


Cats on the Prowl

by Hot_elf



Series: Dragon Age - series 1 (Cat Cousland / Caitlin Hawke) [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-07 23:03:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 40,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_elf/pseuds/Hot_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cat Cousland meets a certain assassin, she quickly realizes that there's more to life than just picking locks and fighting darkspawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fireside Chats

****

**Chapter 1: Fireside Chats**

"Why so preoccupied, sweet Catalina?" Zevran's deep rich voice tore her out of her musings.

Cat hadn't noticed him come over to her tent, but then she knew he was a master at stealth. Usually, she hated her full name. She could still hear her mother's strident tones in the back of her head, scolding her for some real or imagined offense. _Catherine Elizabeth Cousland!_ She'd insisted the others call her just Cat. The nickname suited her, went well with her green eyes and her graceful gait. But the way Zev pronounced her name in his strong Antivan accent rather pleased her.

She had been thinking about him, as a matter of fact. It had been several weeks now since he'd joined their group, and he'd proven himself loyal and useful far beyond her expectations. His unwavering good cheer and uncomplicated companionship had slowly endeared him to all but the ever-wary Morrigan.

Lately, he had begun teaching her how to use a second weapon. He'd approved of her swordsmanship, her quick, lethal strikes. When he suggested she use a dagger in her left hand, she had immediately realized that this would make her a far greater danger in battle. She enjoyed the practice sessions too, his soft chuckles when she proved too clumsy for a complicated manoeuvre, his gentle hands correcting her grip on the hilt of the dagger.

He was ever considerate of her, saving her a particularly tasty morsel of food, cleaning her weapons for her at night when she was too tired, even offering her a brief massage when she was feeling the strain of their battles. She shivered briefly, recalling the feel of his warm hands on her shoulders.

"I wonder, are you trying to seduce me?" His head jerked up, then he laughed softly. Oh Maker, had she just said this aloud?

"And what would make you think that, cara mia?" he asked, his amusement plainly visible in the soft creases around his golden eyes.

She shrugged, embarrassed. "Just the way you've been looking at me lately, all those small favours and kindnesses, I don't know..." her voice trailed off.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "But that was no more than the attentiveness due to any woman as beautiful as you, don't you think?"

She snorted, put off by this obvious bit of flattery. "I'm hardly beautiful!" she snarled.

He seemed genuinely taken aback by her answer. "And is that what they told you, those noble whelps you grew up with?" he growled. He'd noticed for some time that the local aristocracy seemed to have a rather limited idea of what constituted female beauty. She certainly didn't match the picture of the blushing pink "Fereldan rose", with her red hair, pale skin and the small dusting of freckles on her face. But how could they be blind to those eyes, those full lips, the graceful, lithe body? Zevran sighed. Alistair, too was completely oblivious to her charms, treating her like a younger sister, while every blonde buxom serving wench would cause him to blush and tremble.

He shook his head and gently took her hand. "Trust me, my sweet, I have enjoyed the... company of some of the most beautiful women in Thedas, and you have no reason whatsoever to worry about your looks." She blushed briefly, clearly not convinced. "Anyway, as for your allegation..." he added, his eyes firmly locked on her, casually stroking her palm with his thumb before raising her hand to his face and breathing a feather-light kiss on her wrist. She gasped, her eyes widening and he softly cupped her face with his other hand, a hint of triumph in his smile. "Would you like me to... seduce you?"

Cat swallowed, for once unsure of what to say. The touch of his lips had been so soft as to go almost unnoticed and yet, she had felt a spark travel from her hand straight down to her crotch. Her heart almost missed a beat as his thumb ghosted over her trembling lip, and she had to suppress a violent urge to catch his finger with her lips, to kiss it, to suck hard on it.

Zevran watched the way her eyes suddenly darkened with desire, the expressions warring on her face, and he laughed softly. "Aaaaah, but you are still so very young, and so innocent," he muttered, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. "Perhaps it's better if you take your time thinking about your answer, no?" And with those words, he rose and slowly walked over to his tent, leaving her shivering despite the warmth of the fire.

"Has he been bothering you?" Alistair sat down next to her, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, sounding belligerent and ready to defend her.

She had to suppress a smile. He reminded her so much of Fergus, her big brother. Fergus had been just like him, teasing her for much of the time, but fiercely protective of his kid sister. They even had the same open guileless expression, the same goofy sense of humour. "No, I'm fine," she replied, following Zevran with her eyes, admiring his easy grace, as he ducked into his tent. "I just have a lot to think about."


	2. The Pearl

**Chapter 2: The** **Pearl**

The mercenaries hadn't presented any real challenge to them. A combination of Morrigan's freezing spell, Alistair's swordplay and her and Zevran's dancing blades had quickly made them see reason.

Sanga, the proprietor of the establishment, was only too grateful to be rid of them. "What can I offer you in return?" she asked. "Are you interested in men? Women? A combination of both?"

Cat declined politely, though she felt momentarily intrigued by the proposal. "Not at the moment, thank you. There is, however, a favour that I'd like to ask of you. I've noticed you have some rather well-appointed bathrooms back there and our inn is none too clean..."

"Of course!" Sanga exclaimed. "I'll have the maids draw both tubs for you and your companions, one for the gentlemen and one for the ladies. Unless you'd all prefer to share..."

Cat quickly shook her head, suppressing a giggle when she saw Alistair blush violently and noticed Morrigan's icy stare. Leliana uttered a small shriek, pretending to be shocked, but fooling no one. Sten obviously didn't care, one way or the other. And Zevran... well, he would have been only too happy with such an arrangement, she thought wryly, but he'd just have to deal.

Once Sanga told them the tub was ready and waiting, the three men wandered over to their bathroom. Sten threw a contemptuous glance at the perfumed hot bath and walked straight over to the buckets of ice-cold water waiting to be heated for the next customer. He quickly stripped down, washed with a few economic movements, dried his massive frame with a huge towel and was out of the door again before the others had even completely undressed.

Alistair was sinking into the water with a sigh of pleasure, though, and Zevran joined him eagerly enough. A hot civilized bath like this was a rare luxury in Ferelden, and he enjoyed it thoroughly.

With a happy sigh, he leaned back and let his mind wander to the beautiful warden, the way she had looked at him a few days ago at the campfire. What an innocent she was! Still, there had been passion in her eyes, and it was easy to imagine her in his arms, flushed with pleasure, her breath coming in quick little gasps...

He was torn out of his reverie by Alistair cleaning his throat ostentatiously. "You might want to... cool down a little," the tall knight growled, with a pointed glance at Zevran's groin, his ears tinged pink with embarrassment.

"Aaaah, but that is the point of a hot bath, is it not, my friend," Zevran replied mischievously. "And besides, don't tell me that you aren't busy imagining what's going on next door, with our three beautiful ladies all together in a tub..."

Alistair's eyes widened in shock at the suggestion and he started to say something, but Zevran continued unabashedly. "Just think, beautiful Morrigan with her pale skin and her perky little breasts, her soft white skin flushed by the heat, Leliana stretching voluptuously in the hot water, moaning with pleasure, and of course our pretty Catalina, all wet and relaxed..."

"Really, Zevran, you go too far," Alistair sputtered, now genuinely angered, even though it was obvious that the picture painted by the assassin's deep sultry voice hadn't failed to excite him. With a furious groan, he got out of the tub and walked over to the buckets, letting the cold water quench his impure thoughts. As he dressed and stomped out of the room, Zevran grinned impishly, settling back into the fragrant water. It was really far too easy to provoke Alistair, he thought lazily.

When the pretty little bathroom attendant came in to ask him, if he needed anything, he gladly took advantage of the opportunity and threw her an explicit glance. She giggled as she helped him out of the tub, softly rubbed him down with a towel and massaged a scented oil into his body.

As she carefully took him between her lips and he felt her practised tongue slide along his hard length, Zevran sighed languidly, only too content to let her take care of his needs. Yes, it had been a very good idea to come to the Pearl, he decided.


	3. Cold Nights in the Mountains

**Chapter 3: Cold Nights in the Mountains**

Cat was shivering in her thin leathers. The nights up here in the mountains were unseasonably cold, and none of them was really dressed for the weather.

The elation they had all felt when the Urn of the Sacred Ashes had turned out to be more than just a legend, the new-found hope that they could save Arl Eamon after all, was dampened for the moment by the misery they felt at having to camp in this cold, bare spot. The others had already withdrawn into their tents, but she couldn't tear herself away from the fire, sitting close to it, staring up at the full pale moon.

"Carissima, you'll catch your death like this," she heard Zevran scold her gently, as he spread his warm woollen blanket over her shoulders. It was still warm from his body and she could smell his scent on it, spice and cinnamon and leather.

She gratefully snuggled down inside it, but then she felt an immediate tinge of guilty conscience. "But Zev, you are shivering just as much as I am," she protested. "At least come closer and share the warmth with me!"

She cursed her quick tongue, when she heard him laugh softly. "As you wish, my dear." She could feel him slip under the blanket with her, pulling her on his lap, his long lean body pressed up close to hers. "Aaaah, that's better."

She settled her head companionably on his shoulder as his arms went around her, and they warmed each other against the cold night air. "Much warmer," she sighed contentedly.

He laughed again. "It certainly is," he murmured. "Though I have to admit that being so close to you creates a certain amount of... additional heat for me." She felt him shuffle and blushed as she noticed his obvious reaction to her proximity.

Yet, he felt so good... Without thinking, she reached up and slowly brushed her lips against his. He looked at her with a quizzical expression, trying to read her mind.

"Well, well, my sweet, you never cease to surprise me," she heard him mutter. He returned her kiss, almost chastely, letting the tip of his tongue softly tease her lip for a second before withdrawing. When she sighed happily, he pulled her closer, his hands beginning to stroke her leather-clad thighs in soft, lazy circles, but the blanket slipped away and she squealed at the gust of cold air that brushed against her legs.

He cursed in mock desperation. "Those blasted mountains! Why does it have to be so cold up here!" he growled. "If we were in Antiva now, my love, where the summer nights are hot and the air is like liquid silk, do you know what I would do?" She shook her head, not trusting her voice. "I'd take you away from here, to somewhere a little more private," he purred against her ear, "and then I'd make love to you by the light of the moon, until you'd melt in my arms."

She trembled, captivated by the passion in his voice, willing him to go on. Her customary sharp wit seemed to have left her for the moment.

"Ah, my sweet, this is exquisite torture indeed," he groaned, pulling her into a deeper, harder kiss. She uttered a small moan of pleasure as his tongue swirled around hers, drawing her deeper, promising her sensations that she could only guess at so far. And Zevran found himself gasp for air at the feel of her soft, eager lips.

"Let me stay in your tent tonight, my beautiful," she heard him whisper. "Just to hold you, to warm you, nothing more. But," his voice grew rougher, more determined, "as soon as we reach Redcliffe and sleep in proper beds again, I'll be back to continue this... conversation, yes?" She nodded, still unable to speak, but she knew she'd spend the rest of the journey in a haze of pleasurable anticipation.


	4. Redcliffe Castle

**Chapter 4:** **Redcliffe** **Castle**

Cat looked around the huge luxurious bedchamber in disbelief. After so many nights spent in camp, she'd have been happy with a pallet in the kitchen. But the Arlessa would have none of it. Overjoyed about her husband's recovery, she'd assigned his saviours luxurious guest chambers in the castle. And she'd insisted on a sumptuous banquet for them all, complete with acrobats and jugglers and bards. Well, that last one hadn't been a problem. Leliana had been only too happy to sing for them, enjoying a break from the more mundane duties she fulfilled when they were on the road. She did have a lovely voice, Cat decided as she recalled a particularly stirring rendition of an Orlesian love song about a knight and his lady love. And it hadn't failed to make an impact on the others either, judging by the heated glances Alistair had thrown at the pretty bard.

She yawned contentedly and curled up, ready for sleep, when a swift motion by the side of her bed made her jump and reach for her dagger. She immediately relaxed when she recognized Zevran's silhouette, though.

"Careful, cara, I'm not here to murder you in your sleep," she heard him whisper as he joined her on the huge bedstead. His voice was like rich, dark velvet, and she shivered with anticipation as she regarded him by the light of the oil lamp. He was wearing only thin leather pants and a white linen shirt, and the absence of his armour made him look softer, younger, less dangerous. Though she wasn't fooled by that - she knew there was nothing soft or harmless about Zevran.

She saw his tongue glide over his full lips in an appreciative motion as he took in her appearance, the soft, flimsy nightgown that half exposed her shoulders, her tousled red hair, her slightly flushed face. She expected him to kiss her, to take her into his arms, but instead he just looked at her for a minute, before he spoke.

"Take this off, my beautiful. I want to see you." Cat held her breath as he helped her unlace the nightgown, then pulled it off, feasting his eyes on her. She closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat and passion in his gaze.

Zevran was enchanted. He'd known she was beautiful, he'd glimpsed hints of pale skin more than once on their travels, but to see her like this... She was slim and supple, her whole body taut and fit, but her breasts, freed from the confines of her breast-band, were slightly bigger than he'd imagined, fitting perfectly into his hands. Her hips were softly curved, and the dark red triangle between her long, shapely legs, made him want to run his fingers through it, bury his face in those silky curls, feel her wetness...

He kissed her then, his lips burning hot on hers, his tongue pulling her into an enticing, intricate dance that left her breathless and panting. She felt his hands softly stroke down her neck, along her breastbone. He gently cupped her breasts, caressing her nipples with his calloused thumbs. She gave a small moan of pleasure that turned into a high-pitched cry when his tongue took over, circling, sucking, teasing until she thought she couldn't stand it any longer. His hands were everywhere, exploring, searching for sensitive spots, making her skin blaze with heat. Zevran felt his own pleasure mount as he caressed her. This was what he liked best about making love, getting to know a woman's most secret places, learning what pleased her, anticipating her every need and wish. His nimble fingers played her body like an instrument, while his lips and tongue tasted her, devoured her, made her his.

She moaned in ecstasy, but then he felt her hands reach for the laces of his shirt, trying eagerly to undo them. He brushed her aside and quickly threw off the offending garment, groaning when her fingers travelled over his muscular chest, his taut belly, grazing over his erect nipples. He pulled her close to him, feeling her hot trembling body all along the length of his torso. Her hands explored further down his stomach, hesitating when she felt him straining against the tight leather pants. He quickly peeled them off, noticing her shying away for a moment despite her curiosity, when she took in his naked form.

"Zev, I've never..." He nodded, took her hand and pulled it towards him, felt her stroke cautiously, then more confidently along his hard length.

It was not so much her innocence that excited him, but her eagerness, he realised. Zevran had never been too zealous to bed virgins, preferring experienced, skillful bed partners, but she was so curious, so quick to learn that it was a sheer pleasure to teach her.

Noting that his patience was wearing thinner, he pulled away from her hand, gently pushed her down on the bed and parted her legs. When his tongue stroked a slow, deliberate path over her hot core, she cried out again, pushing up against him, and he had to pause for a moment to let her become familiar with the intensity of the sensation. When he proceeded, she seemed to melt in his arms, her soft, breathless sighs of pleasure making him shiver as he tasted her deeply.

"Don't worry," he whispered against her, "I'm not going to hurt you." With infinite care, he slid one finger inside her, probing her readiness, gently widening her passage, preparing her for his assault. She arched against him, whimpering, and he quickly moved up, pulling her into another kiss, sliding between her legs and deep inside her in one fluid, measured motion. She screamed then, but not in pain. He sent a silent thank you to the Orlesian lady who'd taught him, long ago, how to take a girl's virginity without hurting her.

Softly, carefully, he began to move inside her. She looked up at him, her eyes completely unguarded, and the sheer unadulterated lust he saw in them nearly made him lose control. He paused, trembling, then resumed his careful rhythm, feeling her hot and tight around him, watching her expression change as her pleasure slowly built towards its climax. With iron restraint, he took her higher and higher, his hands softly stroking her breasts, his hips moving between her legs in a slow but insistent pace.

When he finally felt her reach her release, her muscles tight around him, her face consumed with pleasure, he closed his eyes, letting his body take over, and sinking inside her hot depth again and again and again. As he let go, deep inside her, his orgasm hit him with such a powerful force, such a deep and satisfying intensity, that he cried out in amazement. He hadn't felt such intense pleasure in a very long time, even though he had had far more refined sensual delights thrown his way.

With a final hoarse groan, he let himself sink onto the sheets next to her, pulling her into a deep embrace, kissing her hair, her lips, her eyes. When she looked up at him, her eyes still hazed over, his breath caught in his throat. Clearly, he had got far more than he'd bargained for...


	5. Lessons in Love

**Chapter 5: Lessons in Love**

When Zevran snuck back into Cat's room the next evening, she was standing near the fireplace, a glass of dark red wine in her hand and a frown on her face. It had been a tiring day. Arlessa Isolde had seemed determined to show them off to every single one of her neighbours. _Come and see the heroes who saved the Arl!_ And of course she never failed to mention how she had been the only one to believe in the Urn's power in the first place. More than once he'd seen Cat clench her teeth in frustration, remembering all the knights who'd lost their life on this improbable wild-goose chase. Leaning against the mantelpiece, she sighed deeply, but when she noticed him, her face lit up in a bright smile.

"Zev! Would you help me with these?" she exclaimed, indicating the fastenings of her leather armour.

He walked over to her, his nimble fingers setting to work. "Your choice of dress didn't go down too well with the Arlessa, no?" he muttered as his lips softly brushed against her neck.

She frowned again. "No, she'd rather parade me around like a prize horse! Kept telling me a Teyrn's daughter should wear proper Fereldan costume. Stupid, useless woman. I should have killed her when I had the chance!"

"However," her face took on an impish expression as she let the last piece of her armour fall to the floor and disappeared for a minute behind the voluminous bed-curtains. "What do you think about this?"

Zevran's eyes widened and he whistled softly in appreciation. She was wearing a mere nothing made from the finest Orlesian silk. The lacy dark red fabric clung to her slim body, enhancing her curves.

"Where did you find this?" he inquired, joining her on the bed.

She smiled a truly feline smile. "Nicked it from the Arlessa's chest of drawers," she answered nonchalantly. "The woman has about a hundred of those, so she won't miss it. And I like the feel of it." She let her hands travel suggestively over her hips, looking up at him with a provocative expression.

Zevran raised an amused eyebrow. She seemed determined to be the one who did the seducing tonight. Well, he wasn't in a hurry, and he rather enjoyed seeing her in such a playful mood. "Tell me, my sweet Catalina, how did a nobleman's daughter become such an accomplished thief?" he asked, taking a sip from her glass of wine.

She pouted for a moment, disappointed at his delaying tactics, but then she launched into her story willingly enough. "That would be May's doing. She was a chambermaid at the castle, a reformed thief from Denerim. She'd been condemned to the gallows, you see, and had pleaded her belly. When the babe was born, my mother took her in." She made a face. "Mother made a huge show of how charitable she was, but she didn't let May forget for a second that she was keeping a close eye on her." Cat snorted. "May didn't steal a thing from my parents, though she could have picked any lock in the castle. Zev, that woman was an artist!"

He smiled at her flushed, excited face. "She taught you?"

Cat nodded. "I was eleven or twelve then, and I used to watch her little boy for her while she was fooling around with one of the footmen. In exchange, she spent hours showing me how to move silently, to pick locks and pockets..."

"And no one noticed?" Zevran asked incredulously.

"Well, Fergus did. But I never told Mother about him and the scullery maid either."

Cat shrugged off the memories, and snuggled closer to him. She wasn't going to let him distract her any further. Last night, he had been in control, and she'd been grateful for his experience and skill. She vividly remembered her cousins' lurid tales of 'first nights', and she knew she'd been lucky beyond measure to have met Zevran. But tonight, she wanted more than just to follow his lead.

"So, do you like me in this?" she asked again, indicating the revealing gown.

"'Like' isn't the word I'd use," he growled softly, letting his hand trail over the soft fabric that just barely covered her breasts, revelling in the feel of her firm flesh under the thin silk. She moved onto his lap, straddling him and let her lips brush tantalizingly against his.

Zevran responded immediately, kissing her deeply, taking his time until he felt her shiver under his hands. "Zev," she breathed. "Make love to me again! Tell me you still want me."

He laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. "And do you doubt that, cara mia? Of course I want you. I was afraid you might be a little sore, though."

"I was," she admitted. "But I asked Wynne for a salve. Told her I was saddle sore after the long ride from Haven."

He couldn't believe his ears. "And she bought that?"

Cat shrugged. "If she didn't, at least she didn't preach at me either. Now, don't you think I have a lot more to learn?" Her husky voice made him shiver as she touched him hesitantly, her fingers stroking him through his leather breeches.

He quickly caught her hand, placing a searing hot kiss on her wrist. "Not yet," he commanded. "Undress me first."

Her eyes widened at his imperious tone, but she obeyed. Carefully she unlaced his shirt and pulled it over his head. Her gaze wandered over his body with frank admiration and curiosity, taking in his strong arms, his well-muscled chest, his chiseled abdomen. His skin had a deep golden colour, far darker than hers, and it shimmered in the candlelight like the silk she was wearing.

Encouraged by his stillness, she let her hands wander all over his chest and belly, then her lips and tongue followed suit. He kept completely motionless, letting her explore, but he moaned softly when she sucked gently on his nipples. His eyes half-closed, Zevran enjoyed her boldness, only occasionally directing her hands or mouth to a spot that gave him even more pleasure. Finally, she began to unlace his breeches, freeing his hard, straining member from the tight confines of the leather. She glided down between his thighs, planting a soft kiss on his tip and he gasped for air. His breath caught in his throat when she looked up at him with dark veiled eyes. "Teach me," she breathed, making him very nearly lose control.

"Later," he rasped, pulling her up with a powerful grip. His hands roamed her body, quickly setting her ablaze with desire. When he parted her legs, he felt her hot and wet and ready for him. She moved swiftly then, and straddled him again, emitting a soft cry as she slowly took his full length inside her. Zevran held on to her hips for a moment, letting them both adjust to the feeling. Then he let go of her and groaned at her soft careful motions. It was almost torturous for him to let her set the pace, yet he felt his own lust build up in a steady lazy curve he wasn't sure he could have achieved himself.

When he almost couldn't bear it any more, he took hold of her hips again and carefully rolled over with her. He held his weight propped up on his arms and began a slow, sweet grinding of his hips that made her writhe under him in pleasure. "Zev, oh Zev," he heard her sigh as he increased his pace, watching her, his own body taut like a bowstring. When she finally arched up against him with a hoarse cry, her muscles clenching around him, it took him only seconds to follow her.

"You really are a fast learner," he muttered, his lips softly caressing the top of her head.

She laughed softly, curling up closer to him. "I have a good teacher," she purred contentedly.


	6. Brandy Tasting

**Chapter 6: Brandy Tasting**

Zevran stretched languorously on the big four-poster bed. It was their fourth night at Castle Redcliffe. Four nights ago he had first made love to the Warden, to his beautiful Catalina. Since then, she had proven an eager pupil, only too ready to learn how to please him, to find out what her own body was capable of. It had turned out to be a hugely pleasurable experience. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so fascinated by a woman.

Cat was sitting on the rug near the fireplace, unwrapping the presents they had been given by the Arl and his family, the look on her face by turns pleased, disgusted and comically amused. Realizing he was watching her, she looked up and smiled, then walked over to him, a delicate glass bottle in her hands. "Do you want this? I'm not interested in getting drunk." He was about to decline when he realized what exactly she was offering him. "Catalina! That's Antivan brandy! It's not for _getting drunk_!"

She looked at him in confusion as he eagerly studied the label. "35 years old! Brasca! This is a very fine gift!"

His excited face puzzled her. "What's so special about it?" she inquired.

Zevran sighed deeply. "What isn't? Ahhhh, my sweet, you have to taste it to believe it." He carefully opened the bottle with the help of his dagger, breathing in the aroma as he did so, then poured her a glass of the rich amber liquid.

When he offered it to her, she took a quick sip and made a face. "Really, Zev, I don't like strong spirits."

He groaned in exasperation. "No, no, my sweet, you're doing it all wrong!"

He took the glass from her hands and demonstrated. "You see, bella, first of all you look at it, swirl it a little, take in the colour, the play of the light, see what it reminds you of..."

Her face was curious as she tentatively took the glass in her hand, holding it up to the flame of the single candle burning at their bedside. "Your eyes," she breathed, her voice dreamy. "It's the exact colour of your eyes."

He chuckled appreciatively. "I can see you're learning already. Now, my beautiful, you breathe in the scent, the aroma. Tell me, what does it smell like to you?"

She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. "Embers, wood-smoke... and a hint of pine resin," she whispered. "It makes me think of the forest near Highever, on a bright spring morning."

Zevran smiled. "Very good. Now you may drink, but not a small sip. A good mouthful, and don't swallow it right away. Keep it in your mouth, take the time to really _taste_ it." As she followed his instructions, he saw a look of surprise cross her face. "Let it swirl around your tongue, feel it, let it linger..." His voice made her shiver, the rich, sensuous quality of it, as he went on, his hand softly playing with her hair. "Now, you may swallow. Feel it run down your throat, like a hot caress, like a lover's touch." She swallowed, her eyes closed, her face a picture of bliss. "Well, cara? What does it taste like?"

She turned her gaze on him, her eyes round with wonder. "It's hard to describe, Zev, so many flavours, so... soft and mellow and..."

He cocked his head. "Vanilla, perhaps?"

She shook her head. "Honey, rather. And a hint of hazelnuts. And at the end, just the faintest aroma of berries. Zev, this is amazing!"

She heard him chuckle again. "See, my beautiful? I knew you'd come to appreciate it."

Her face took on a mischievous expression as she pushed him back down into the pillows, moving over him with the glass in her hand. "You know, Zev, I wonder. This might taste even better if..." She carefully dipped her finger in the amber liquid and painted a figure eight on his chest, then bowed her head and slowly, gently, traced it with her tongue. Zevran had been about to protest the waste, but the sensation hit him like a warm wave. He couldn't help moaning and she grinned up at him. "It tastes even better combined with the flavour of your skin," she breathed, proceeding to carefully wet his nipples. Zevran arched up into her mouth. The feeling of her tongue, softly lapping up every tiny drop of moisture, made him shiver all over. He watched, his skin tingling with pleasure as she carefully drew patterns on his stomach, following all the time with her hot, wet mouth, working her way down to his crotch.

When she reached his pulsing erection, she looked up at him, a question in her eyes. "This might burn..." she said uncertainly, but he motioned for her to go on. With infinite care, she wet her fingers again in the glass, then moved them softly over his balls. He hissed with pleasure when her tongue and lips followed suit, licking, softly kneading, driving him almost insane with their gentle touch. She worked her way slowly up his shaft, until she reached the tip. He could see her pause for breath, then take a deep sip from the glass. Without swallowing, she bent down and took him firmly in her mouth. He gasped for air. The sensation of her swirling tongue, combined with the burning heat of the brandy, was enough to very nearly make him come undone. As he heard her laugh softly, he quickly wrapped his hand in her hair, bringing her head up to his, kissing her hard. Her lips tasted of him, and of the brandy, a blend so perfect it took his breath away.

He rolled over with her, taking the glass from her hands and pressing her down into the sheets. "Your turn, I think," he growled, his voice hoarse with desire. He began pouring a few drops onto her collarbone, softly nipping at it, eliciting a small cry of pleasure from her, but then he changed his mind. "Show me," he murmured. "Where do you want it to go?"

Her eyes widened, but she obediently began to draw a pattern on her breasts, circling her nipples, dipping deep into the valley between them. Zevran watched, entranced, then let his tongue follow the trail. Cat shuddered violently, her back arching up as they continued the game, all the way down across her stomach, all over her most sensitive spots. He groaned at the pleasure, unable to decide which was best, the taste of the brandy on her, the sight of her wet fingers travelling over her body, caressing, pointing out to him where she wanted to be touched, the slow burning of the alcohol on his tongue, the silkiness of her skin. When he reached her soft, wet folds, it became almost too much to bear. _Her_ taste, enhanced by the flavours of the brandy, her hips bucking up as she moaned and sighed, her small soft cries... He growled again, reaching for the glass once more.

Cat couldn't believe how good it felt. The brandy left a tingling trail on her skin, momentarily soothed by his tongue, before that in turn ignited her even further. She wanted it to go on forever, never to end, and at the same time the yearning inside her grew stronger and stronger. She felt herself burn for him, ache for him. Maker, she wanted him so badly. When he finally let go of her hips and moved up between her legs, the pressure of him against her wet core made her moan out loud. "Zevran..." He knew, he didn't need to be told, how ready she was for him, and he sheathed himself inside her without hesitation. For a moment they kept completely still, and she revelled in the sensation of him filling her to the brim, his hot torso against her body, his lips on hers. Then he began to move, but she was too impatient, too heated for his soft, patient strokes, so she pushed hard against his shoulders, making them both roll over.

She heard him laugh with delight as she straddled him, drawing him deeper inside her, her legs wrapped around his waist, her breasts pressed against his chest. Maker, but he felt so good, he smelled so good, he _tasted_ so good. Her hips began to move of their own accord, circling, rolling, bucking against him. He groaned and took hold of her, forcing her roughly into an even more frenzied rhythm, urging her on, overcome by his own need, his own desire. Their bodies seemed to melt into each other where they were joined, and she no longer knew where hers ended and his began. Everything was heat, lust, intense, mind-blowing pleasure, and they ground against each other, their movements getting jerkier as they slowly, inexorably lost control. Within moments of each other, they both cried out, their bodies caught in a violent spasm, pressing against each other so hard it almost hurt.

She felt him relax, pulling her closer to him, but she didn't let go of him, couldn't yet, knew that she needed him for a little longer, her body still crying out for more. His hands found her heat, and he softly touched her, caressed her, sending her over the edge again, making her tremble and moan in ecstasy, clinging hard to him, her lips silently forming his name.

When they finally pulled apart, he sighed a deep sated sigh and reached for the glass, taking a last sip and handing it over to her. She drained it, marvelling once more at the rich, complex taste. "Who would have thought the Arl capable of such a... thoughtful present?" she murmured, nestling into his arms, her head resting upon his chest, and she felt the soft rumble of his laugh as he held her tight.


	7. Stress Relief

**Chapter 7: Stress Relief**

Cat yawned and stretched her tired body. It had been a long day, and most of it had been spent behind closed doors with the Arl, Bann Teagan and Alistair, trying to work out a strategy for the Landsmeet. Politics bored her, and she was itching to leave the castle, to get back on the road. Still, they would need a few more days to restock, make plans, get ready.

Zevran was late tonight, and she missed him. It had been five days since they'd arrived at Redcliffe, five nights she'd spent in his arms. Her body was already used to his touch, she realized, blushing at the recollection of the things he had done to her, the things he'd made her do to him. She ached for the sensation of his hands on her skin, feeling an emptiness ache inside her, just waiting to be filled.

It wasn't just his body she longed for, though. After they made love, they would talk for hours. At first it had been mostly pleasant banter, with her talking of the many occasions when she had outwitted her strict mother, or him discreetly describing some amorous or felonious exploit.

Later they'd touched on darker subjects: the death of her family, her nightmares of the Archdemon, the things the Crows had made him do. It was so easy to talk to him that it seemed as if they'd shared most of their lives in those few nights.

Zevran was pacing the length of his room, fighting an internal battle between the wish to see her and a twisted professional pride. There he was, the famous assassin, seducer of ladies all over Thedas, and he couldn't wait to be with her. He could just imagine Taliesin's sneer. According to everything his teachers had taught him, he should have stayed away after two or three nights, letting her pine for him, increasing her desire even more. Instead, he hadn't been able to keep his hands off her, like some lovestruck schoolboy.

He shook his head in disbelief, but then his features softened as his gaze fell upon the soft leather boots she'd given him on their return from Haven. They were made from the finest Antivan leather, the most thoughtful present anyone had ever given him. It was then that he realized that he was acting like a fool. She wasn't one of his conquests, no mark that he was seducing in order to kill her later. Remembering how tired she had seemed at dinner, he grabbed a little flask from his pack and set off toward her room.

At the sight of him her face lit up. "Zev! Where have you been?"

He took her in his arms, his earlier thoughts forgotten. "Did you miss me?"

She kissed him softly, her lips teasing his. "I was almost afraid the Arlessa had set a trap for you," she joked. "The way she was looking at me today, I'm pretty sure she suspects something. I guess the maids have been talking."

He frowned at her words, but she laughed off his concern. "Oh come on, Zev, the worst that can happen is another lecture on my duties as a nobleman's daughter. I can deal with that. She can't possibly be more bothersome than my mother." Her face took on a mischievous grin. "You know, when King Cailan came to visit us, years ago, Mother insisted I wear a purple brocade dress. She'd go on and on until I finally made sure I wouldn't be presentable for the occasion."

Zevran looked at her, an indulgent smile on his face. "What did you do?"

She smiled happily. "Cut off my hair. It went down to my waist before, but I trimmed it like a boy's. They had to hide me for weeks."

Zevran chuckled, though he felt a tinge of regret at the thought of that red mane. He could just imagine her, clad in nothing but her tresses...

"Anyway," she continued. "I'm not going to let that blue-blooded bitch keep me from wasting away my nights with a handsome Antivan assassin. What do you have in mind tonight?" Despite her beguiling words, she couldn't quite suppress a yawn, and he realized she hadn't got much sleep lately.

"Something special, just for you," he replied softly, quickly helping her out of her clothes. "Lie down on the bed for me, will you?"

She looked up intrigued as he took the tiny flask of scented oil from his pocket, and softly began spreading it over her back and shoulders. The sweet aroma of sandalwood filled the room as he began to massage her, very thoroughly, loosening all the knots and kinks in her back before moving on to her arms and legs.

He paid special attention to her curved buttocks, before he gently turned her over and started on her front. She sighed happily as his hands deftly moved all over her, slowly circling her breasts and her navel. When he focussed on her nipples, the warm oil making his fingers slick and slippery, her breathing grew faster. He kissed her tenderly, as his hands wandered deeper and he began exploring between her legs, eliciting small happy sighs from her.

When he judged her ready, he turned her over on her side, threw off his clothes and wrapped himself around her, the touch of her warm oiled body all the stimulation he needed. Slowly, inch by inch, he entered her from behind, his hand reaching around her and caressing her in soft slow strokes. She gasped and pressed back against him. He kept his movements soft and smooth, her body tensing gradually under his hands until she began to quiver all over.

He moved a little away from her then, positioning his body at a right angle to hers, so that he could move more freely. His upper thigh gently slid between hers, increasing the pressure on her soft mound, and she responded immediately. He was moving only a tiny bit faster now, watching the dreamy expression on her face, still keeping to a subtle, almost sedate pace, but he could feel the tension in her increase steadily, until she finally arched up against him with a long sweet moan and he felt her relax all over. With a contented sigh, he turned her over on her belly, and with a few swift strokes found his own release.

She felt entirely boneless in his arms, and she fell asleep almost immediately. He looked down in wonder at her serene face, her long white neck, her soft skin, once again amazed at how much she trusted him. Even though he'd told her about Rinna, she'd placed her life in his hands without hesitation. And she was right, he realized. He could no more have killed her than he could have cut out his own heart.


	8. The Dance of Love

**Chapter 8: **The Dance of Love****

It had been a week since they'd brought the Urn of the Sacred Ashes to Redcliffe. The Arl had visibly recovered by now. And now the Arlessa, by constant nagging and wheedling, had finally got her heart's desire: a ball at the castle in celebration of the event. True, it was a rather slapdash affair, with most of the servants dead or injured, and few neighbours willing to travel over in these times. But she got to dress up and dance, and to show off her newest gown, which seemed to be the main point of the exercise.

Zevran stood in a corner, watching discreetly, having claimed ignorance of Fereldan dances in order to be excused. He had to admit Alistair was looking rather dashing tonight, in festive clothes borrowed from Bann Teagan, a dark red doublet, a white shirt and tight black trousers. And the man could even dance tolerably well. Wynne and Leliana seemed to be enjoying themselves too, the bard teaching the Arlessa some new steps from Orlais while the mage just seemed to be content with listening to the music and the conversation.

Cat, however... Zevran could hardly suppress a grin when he looked at her. She was wearing a dress, a gift from the Arlessa, and the deep frown on her face made it obvious she hated it. It was a dark green ball gown, with a long skirt, a tight-fitting bodice and a light green kerchief covering her breasts.

"After all, you are unmarried, my dear," Isolde had purred with a sly glance.

When Zevran had asked her why she'd agreed to wear it, she had shot a long dark glance in the direction of the Orlesian noblewoman and growled. "The woman is not above a little blackmail, Zev. She threatened to tell the Arl about us and make a public scene, so I figured it wasn't worth the bother."

She hadn't promised to enjoy herself, however, and Cat was determined not to do so, that much was obvious. She refused all offers of dance partners as well as all attempts at conversation, and she retired to her room as soon as she decently could. Zevran lingered for a little while, then he followed her up. When he slipped into her room, he found her in the armchair in front of the fireplace, her shoes discarded, her legs propped up on a footstool, a glass of brandy in her hands. He chuckled softly and walked over to her.

She sighed deeply when she saw him. "Thank the Maker this is over, Zev. I don't think I could have lasted another minute down there." He settled companionably on the armrest of her chair, draping an arm around her shoulder.

"Ah, bellissima, but why didn't you dance?" He silenced her with a raised hand. "No, don't tell me you can't do it. I've seen the way you move in combat. You can't possibly tell me you couldn't master a few paltry dance steps."

She shook her head. "It's not that. I like dancing well enough, at least I used to enjoy the country dances in Highever. But this courtly, formal dancing just drives me mad with boredom. Tell me, Zev, how do people dance in Antiva?"

He smiled. "Well, the nobles dance much like yours, really, Orlesian court dances, though, I might add, with rather more grace. The common people, however, the young men and women who dance in the streets and the taverns on warm summer nights, that's a different story."

She looked at him, her eyebrows arched up in curiosity. "Tell me."

He laughed softly. "I'd rather show you. But this dress won't do." He pulled her up to her feet, examining her with a critical eye from head to toe, then took one of her daggers from the table where she'd been cleaning them. "Allow me." She gasped in surprise as, with a few well-placed cuts, he removed the kerchief, then the long tight sleeves, pushing down the remaining strips of fabric over her arms to expose her shoulders and the top half of her breasts.

"Much better," he grinned. "Now get out of these petticoats." She obeyed and he took the dagger to the long skirt, placing a long slit on either side. "Now you can move freely! And you look a lot more... accessible".

She blushed briefly. "But how are you going to teach me? We don't have music."

He shook his head. "You don't need music for dancing, carissima. All you need is the rhythm." He took her hand and placed it on his chest, above his heart. "Listen! Feel!" Softly he tapped his chest in time with his heartbeat. " _This_ is what you need to listen to," he whispered. "Now, close your eyes." He pulled her to him, then, his left hand resting on her naked shoulder blade, his right grasping her left. With a swift move, he pushed his leg between hers, so their thighs and groins touched intimately.

Cat giggled. "Isn't this a little _too_ close, Zev?"

He looked at her sternly. "Not at all, my sweet. You see, you need to feel me, so you'll know where I'm leading you."

She frowned at this. "Leading me? But what are the steps?"

For a second, his smile returned. "Ahhh, bella, but you see, Antivan men are a proud bunch. They like to be in charge, at least on the dance floor. There are no steps. You go where I lead you." She opened her mouth, about to protest, but he silenced her with a hard kiss, pulling her body even closer as he started to move, in time with their heartbeats, in precise measured steps. His lips moved to her ears and she could hear him softly humming a strange, wild tune, the vibrations making her shiver.

Cat gave in then, though it was difficult for her. She was so used to being in charge, making decisions, leading their little band of adventurers, that she had trouble at first with trusting him for direction. But his hold was firm and certain, and little by little she found herself relaxing, leaning into him, taking her cues from his minute signals, his hip pushing against hers, his hand softly pulling her to him, his head motioning for hers to turn.

Zevran whispered softly in her ear. "Relax, my sweet, and move as if you were a cat stalking her prey. First you sneak up on it, then," he led her into a sudden sharp turn, "you pounce!" Cat looked down for a moment, watching his feet move, imitating his steps and the way he placed his feet. It was a controlled graceful movement, with a hint of danger in it that made it all the more exciting.

She felt almost hypnotized by the soft tune, by his musky scent of leather and spice, the heat of his body so close to hers. Their bodies ground against each other in a tantalizingly slow caress. As they became bolder, he led her into turns and walks, making her twirl in his arms, but always keeping her close, so close, her breasts brushing against his chest, his lips touching the soft skin of her neck, right below her ear. She could feel his growing arousal as he slowly bent her backwards in his arms, planting kisses on her neck and collarbone, breathing in her scent, his lips scorching hot on her exposed skin.

Zevran watched her, felt her breath quicken, her heart beating faster against his chest, and he nearly lost himself in her large green eyes. When she began to moan softly, he kissed her again, deep and hard, his tongue capturing hers, dominating the kiss as he had the dance. He felt her knees go weak and took a more determined hold of her, pushing her back against the bedpost. He quickly shrugged off his clothes, then his hands were on her breasts, tearing off the remnants of her bodice. Her nipples were hard like pebbles under his touch, and she ground against him like an animal in heat, her lips half-open, her eyes veiled with desire.

He pushed up her skirt, exposing her long, white legs, his hands making short work of her soaked smallclothes, then hooked his right arm under her left leg, pulling it up, steadying her with his other arm against the bedpost. She felt him pushing against her wet heat, so hard, so forceful. He still kept up the rhythm of the dance as he slowly, inch by inch, moved inside her, deeper and more assured with each thrust, until their bodies were joined with barely a hair's breadth between them.

She heard him pant, his breath coming in quick, hard gasps as he increased the tempo. As a wave of lust hit her, she threw back her head in ecstasy, hitting it hard against the post. He cursed at this and took hold of her other leg, wrapping her thighs around his waist, moving her over to the edge of the bed. She felt his familiar weight on top of her and sighed with pleasure, pulling him in closer, but he shook his head and propped himself up above her, still firmly in charge of the rhythm of their coupling.

He hadn't dominated her so completely since their very first night together, and some small part of her resented it, but every attempt at conscious thought was doomed now as she was gripped by the overwhelming sensation of _him_ inside her, thrusting, pounding, making her whimper helplessly. She gazed up at him, her face open and vulnerable, and Zevran felt a surge of pride. She was his, this proud, independent woman, and he knew he could ask anything of her now, he could make her beg for more, but he was wise enough not to push it. Feeling her tremble, watching her mute appeals, hearing her soft sighs - that was enough for him.

He focussed on her pleasure, firmly suppressing his own urges, watching for the little telltale signs that would show him what to do, how to take her even higher. When he finally felt her muscles clamp down hard around him, her nails raking his back, her legs almost rigid with tension, he brought his body down on her in a single, hard thrust before he let go, taking her, possessing her, with no further thought or plan. He hardly heard her cry of pleasure over the rushing of the blood in his own ears as he finally spilled himself inside her, shaking, groaning, utterly spent.

Later, when they'd cleaned up themselves and settled down for the night, she looked up at his relaxed, sated face. "You never told me what this dance is called."

He smiled. "It doesn't have a name, cara. It doesn't need one. They simply call it the dance of love."


	9. Two Birds of a Feather

**Chapter 9: Two Birds of a Feather**

It seemed they would never get to leave Redcliffe Castle. Just when all their preparations were complete, a heavy rain had set in. There was not much point in travelling in this weather, so they stayed on. They were all raring to go, though, their mood getting more testy and irritable with each day.

If it hadn't been for Zevran, Cat would have lost her mind. Funnily enough, none of the others seemed to notice what they were up to at night. Well, Wynne certainly had her suspicions. And Morrigan had smiled a lazy, knowing smile, when Cat had asked her for the ingredients of a certain herbal tea. Back when May had left Redcliff Castle with her handsome footman, this recipe had been her farewell present. "I don't want you to get in trouble, honey," she had said with a wink.

 _Oh well, there are all kinds of trouble_ , Cat thought philosophically as she went on a final round of their rooms to check all their packs. Everything was perfect, bowstrings mended, blades whetted, provisions packed. They were ready to set out in the morning.

When she wandered into Zev's room, he welcomed her with a radiant smile. "Glad we're finally leaving, cara?" he asked.

"More than just glad," she sighed. "Though I am going to miss the soft beds..."

He grinned wickedly and, before she could guess his intention, had her pressed against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head with his right hand while his left started softly stroking her breasts through her thin shirt. "Don't worry, my love," he said huskily. "Who needs beds when there's soft moss and downy grass and... walls."

She swallowed. "Walls?" His grin became more mischievous and she could feel him hard against her stomach, his hands busy with the strings of her shirt.

Before he could elaborate, however, the door burst open and Alistair barged in. "Zev, did you remember to..." His eyes widened and he immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion. "Damn it Arainai, get your hands off her. What do you think you're doing?" He raised his hand, trying to land a punch on Zevran's chin, but that turned out to be a near-fatal mistake.

All she saw was a quick flurry of movements, too fast for her to make out in detail, and Alistair found himself lying on the floor with Zevran astride his chest, a thin curved blade pressed to his throat.

"You shifty Antivan bastard!" Alistair sputtered, but Zevran just smiled, his eyes half closed.

"It's never wise to insult a man who's holding a knife to your throat," he hummed, softly increasing the pressure of the blade to draw a few drops of blood. Alistair paled visibly.

"Enough!" Cat cut in, and Zevran immediately jumped to his feet in a fluid, graceful motion. "Alistair, if you intended to defend my honour, you're more than a bit late," she remarked flippantly, realizing her mistake when she saw his face.

He wore an expression of pure shock and disgust as he looked at her. "Are you telling me you let this... this dirty street thug, this _scum_ , make a whore out of you?"

"He's considerably cleaner than you, Alistair," she answered dryly, "and I don't think a few nights with him make me a whore."

Zevran could clearly hear the deep hurt in her voice, under her mask of cool disdain, but Alistair ignored it and just went on, too appalled to care. "Cat, how could you? You're Bryce Cousland's daughter, you could have married a king!"

Her stare became icy, as she looked at him. " _Could have_? And now I'm damaged goods, Alistair, is that what you are saying?" The knight blanched, visibly shaken. "Get out!" she snarled, and he was smart enough to obey.

Zevran looked at her pale face, her trembling lips, and realized how frayed her nerves must be. "Don't mind him, love," he said lightly. "He was just surprised. He'll see reason tomorrow."

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. "I'll make him apologize to you. No one will talk like this to the man I love."

His head snapped up and he looked at her, not sure he'd heard her right. "That's a big word," he replied warily.

"Too big for a little girl, you mean!" He could hear her fury, now directed at him.

"That's not what I meant," he said softly. "But you do realize that it's only natural to fall in love with your first lover. It doesn't mean..."

She shook her head violently, clearly rejecting his facile explanation, but she let it go for now. "Just don't leave me, Zev!" She looked very young and vulnerable for a moment.

He carefully put an arm around her shoulder. "I won't, cara. Though, you know, Alistair is not completely wrong. Who knows, after the Blight, you might want to settle down with one of your kind..."

She gave a bitter little laugh and looked up at him. "My kind? After the Blight I'll probably be dead, Zev. But if by some miracle I shouldn't be, I'm counting on you to get me away from them."

She paced the room like a caged animal, more agitated than he'd ever seen her. "Zev, if there was one good thing about the attack on my parents' home, in the midst of all the horror, it was that it freed me of that life. I always hated it. Zev, I would have wilted there. I need the road, I need the fighting, and the stealing, and the danger. I'm more like you than you think."

"Don't say that! You don't know me!" It was his turn to sound bitter. "You have no idea of the things I've done. I'm an assassin, Cat, I _enjoy_ killing, the power of it, the rush..."

"And you think I don't?" Her voice was trembling with a feverish passion now. "Zev, I'm no sweet little angel, no pretty little plaything. Maybe it's the taint, maybe it's just me. At any rate, when Duncan had me drink from that chalice, he took away any chance I ever had of a happy, peaceful future. All that's in store for me is fighting, killing, and an early death. But there's one thing I know, and it's that I want to be with you!"

She kissed him hard, a desperate, violent kiss, biting his lip and hissing at him. "Damn it, Zev, make love to me now, no, _fuck_ _me_ , like there's no tomorrow!"

Her words and her torrid raspy voice made something snap inside him and he pulled her close in a rough, almost brutal grip. They went down to the floor, tearing at each other's clothes, possessed by a raw primal need that brooked no delay. She wrapped her legs around his waist with an urgent groan, and he thrust inside her, not caring if she was ready for him, consumed by this burning craving to _be_ with her, to _join_ with her. It was a hurried, frenzied coupling, all refinement stripped away by naked intense desire. As she came with a hoarse scream in his arms, he collapsed over her, shivering uncontrollably.

When he came to his senses, he was struck by an immediate sense of shame and worry. "Did I hurt you, love? Cat?"

She shook her head, but he saw streaks of blood on her hands, and suddenly realized it was his own. Deep bloody scratches ran over his back, and he saw her eyes widen in shock. "Zev... oh Zev, I'm so sorry." She quickly got an injury kit from the pack and started cleaning and dressing the wounds. He let her take care of him, still too shaken to protest. Then he held her close as dry sobs racked her body.

When she tried to speak, he shushed her. "Enough," he whispered. "You were right. Let's enjoy what we have and take each day as it comes. Who knows whether we'll be alive tomorrow."


	10. Confined Spaces

**Chapter 10: Confined Spaces**

They were finally on the road again, heading toward the Brecilian Forest where they were going to remind the Dalish of their promise to help the Wardens. The road was hardly safe these days. Bandits, darkspawn, and now bears. More than once, Wynne had had to set bones, patch them up with healing spells, or revive a fallen companion. Yet it felt good to fight, to _do_ something again.

Zevran and Cat had been cautious and wary in each other's presence for a few days, but eventually they had managed to lock the memories of the last night at Redcliffe away in a safe place, and they had resumed their playful, passionate love-making. Their relationship had changed subtly, though. Zevran realized that he'd once again underestimated her. He'd been utterly shocked by the depth of hurt and resignation that he'd glimpsed on that night. Yet here she was, discussing herbs with Morrigan, singing along with Leliana's songs or trying to draw out Sten from his stony silence, as if nothing had happened.

It helped that Zev never held a grudge for long. Only two days after they'd left, she heard him joke and laugh with Alistair at the campfire. Cat, who still maintained an icy silence towards her fellow warden despite his clumsy attempts at reconciliation, couldn't quite fathom this. When she asked Zevran about it, he just shrugged.

"Ah, Catalina, I've been called worse things before. You Fereldans really aren't all that inventive when it comes to profanity. And he had to strike at me in some way, no? It was hard on him to be bested so easily. Besides," he looked at Alistair, who was gathering firewood on the other side of the camp, with an almost fond expression, "I know jealousy when I see it, and I know it's difficult to bear."

"Jealousy?" she exclaimed. "Why would he be jealous? He's only got eyes for Leliana."

Zevran shook his head. "Not a lover's jealousy, my sweet," he explained patiently. "He's just hurt because he feels he's lost his special place as your trusted friend. And he's really sorry about his rash words; he told me so."

She snorted and grumbled something unintelligible, but he could see she was thinking about it. When he heard her gently tease Alistair about his dirty boots later that night, he smiled to himself quietly.

A few days later, they made camp in a little copse of trees by the road. It had been a relatively uneventful day, just one small band of darkspawn that they'd easily beaten off. Zevran was watching Cat's face, fascinated by the play of the firelight on her soft features. She was finishing off her soup, her tongue darting out to lick a few drops off her full lips. When she realized he was looking at her, her green eyes met his gaze, and he could see her mouth curve upwards into an amused smile. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her. Her smile grew broader as she got up, stretched with a yawn and, with a quick goodnight directed at Alistair and Leliana, walked off gracefully toward her tent, her hips swinging invitingly, throwing a tiny glance back over her shoulder at him. Without hesitation, he got to his feet and followed her.

Her tent was tiny, with barely enough space for her bedroll and her packs. They couldn't undress without bumping and brushing against each other constantly, a fact that didn't exactly bother them. When they were both naked, he sat down on her bedroll and pulled her down on his lap for a soft, lingering kiss. She moaned happily, and soon their hands and lips were busy, softly igniting each other's passion.

She looked beautiful in the light of the oil lamp. He sighed, wishing for a little more privacy. Their love-making had of necessity become more subdued out here. He missed her wilder side, he realized. Oh well, there were other ways to spice things up... He softly slid his hand between her legs, probing gently and caressing her expertly until she was pushing hard against him, asking wordlessly for more.

He shifted her body a little until she was facing him, her long legs around his waist, and sat back on his haunches. Wrapping his arms around her slender body, he gently guided her downwards on his hard shaft, until he felt her all around him, warm and tight and wonderful. Then he let her sink back a little and kissed her deeply, as he began to move in and out of her in small measured strokes.

With a small movement of his head, he directed her gaze downward. Her eyes widened, when she discovered that in this position she could watch, she could see how he slid inside her and back out again. Zev heard her quick gasp of excitement and smiled inwardly. This never failed to arouse him either.

He tightened his grip around her as he increased the tempo of his strokes, and he felt her grab his back harder, as her hips joined in the movement, burying him deep inside her again and again. When she finally strained against him in a shudder of ecstatic relief, he came so hard that he bit into her shoulder to suppress a scream.

Afterwards, they cuddled up close for a nap, until she had to crawl out into the cool night air for her turn to keep watch. When she looked back at him, stretched out on her bedroll, fast asleep, she couldn't help but smile. Lack of space had its own rewards, it seemed...


	11. Maker's Blessings

**Chapter 11: Maker's Blessings**

Zevran was looking at Cat with an indulgent smile as she was carefully picking the lock on the side door of the small village Chantry. Her obsession with locks never failed to amuse him. While he could easily deal with the simpler mechanisms himself, she was a master of the art, always on the lookout for new challenges. She even carried a set of intricate locks with her for practice, and she'd squeal with delight whenever she'd solved a particularly intriguing puzzle. He much preferred to enter by way of roofs and balconies himself, but then his victims would usually rely more on guards than on complicated locks. In his line of work, stealth served him better, and he'd never been much interested in thieving and robbery.

Not that they had come to rob the place tonight. There wouldn't have been much point in it; the village was poor, the Chantry almost deserted even in the daytime. The Revered Mother was an ancient, rather sweet lady, who was now peacefully asleep in her little house across the village square. No, they had come for something else.

The lock opened with hardly a noise and he could almost see her triumphant smile despite the darkness. Cautiously, they moved through the aisle, making sure all was quiet. The building was completely silent and looked quite beautiful in the dim light of the small lamp burning in honour of Andraste. Zevran pulled Cat towards a quiet spot close to the western wall, where a carpet covered the floor.

"Finally, some privacy!" he breathed into her ear as he drew her into a close embrace.

She laughed, torn between qualms and desire. "Zev, you're mad," she whispered. "Why here?"

He shrugged, his hands already busy with the fastenings of her armour. "Why not? It's warm, safe, reasonably comfortable. Much cleaner than our inn. And I'm sure the Maker sees all that we do anyway!"

She shook her head, unsure whether to laugh or to scold. "You're impossible!" she moaned against his lips, but his quick, feather-light touches were very convincing, and she didn't really put up any resistance when he began to undress her.

Alistair couldn't believe his eyes. He'd asked the Revered Mother for the Chantry key earlier that day, telling her he wished to come back later to pray. That was only half true, however. What he really needed was a quiet place to think. The realization that Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan expected him to take the throne after the Landsmeet had hit him like a ton of bricks. He was no king, he knew that. The peace and quiet of the Chantry would help him weigh his options, or so he hoped, as he settled into a corner pew, half hidden in the shadows.

He didn't hear them come in. They were moving so silently, so stealthily, that he only noticed them when they stepped out into the brightly lit patch where the moon was shining through the huge side window. For a second he considered making his presence known, but then he heard them laugh and whisper, and he held back for a moment, curious as to their intentions. They were only a few yards from him, yet he couldn't make out their words. It was only when they began to kiss passionately that he realized what they were doing here.

He was shocked by their audacity, appalled at the affront to the devout, yet at the same time he couldn't bring himself to step forward to call them out. The sheer unearthly beauty of the scene was utterly captivating as they embraced each other, their lips hungrily seeking each other, their hands dancing over their bodies to quickly remove their armour. When Zevran started to pull up Cat's thin linen shift, Alistair couldn't suppress a quick gasp. They both froze for a second, then he could see Zevran whisper something in her ear.

She laughed with abandon, and slowly, gracefully raised her hands to pull the shirt over her head. The soft movement of her breasts as her arms rose and sank back again to her side was the most seductive thing he'd ever seen. His own amorous exploits after leaving the Order had been limited to hasty fumblings in the dark with willing barmaids in the taverns on the road. This was a completely different experience. He watched, almost in a trance, as they both undressed, their naked bodies locked in a tight embrace, their limbs tangled, their faces ecstatic.

When Zevran's lips closed around her nipples, he could hear her cry out softly. Alistair trembled, realizing that watching them had made him more aroused than he could remember ever having been. It was all he could do to keep his hands away from his own, rock-hard erection, when he saw Cat slowly getting on her knees in front of her lover and he heard the assassin groan with pleasure.

Zevran pulled her up again into a long kiss, then turned her around, making her bend down over one of the pews. Alistair had a full view of the scene, as Zevran slowly, languorously, entered her, taking his time as she moaned with pleasure. The knight felt a furious flame on his cheeks, an urgent heat in his groin as he desperately fought to keep some vestige of control. As their sighs got more breathless, their movements more frenzied, he couldn't take it any longer. Snatching the opportunity when they both cried out in ecstasy, their eyes closed, he quickly snuck past the pews and out through the side door, his whole body shaking with need and confusion.

Zevran pulled Cat's body closer to his, licking the pearls of sweat off her naked back, and laughed softly. "Well, do you think he enjoyed what he saw?" he whispered against her ear.

She made a small sound, halfway between lust and amusement. "I bet he did," she purred. "I have a feeling we had a very appreciative audience."


	12. Gambling for High Stakes

**Chapter 12: Gambling for High Stakes**

They were relieved when they finally left the Forest behind. Even though they had managed to lift the werewolves' curse and to persuade the Dalish to join their cause, there had been so much death, so much madness, so much sorrow. Now they finally felt entitled to some laughter and levity again.

Only Alistair was still in a foul mood, had been for some weeks now, really. Cat had a pretty good idea of what made him so tense and irritable, but she wasn't sure what to do about it. It was Zevran who finally stepped up to Leliana and asked her for a quiet word. Cat watched them talk, saw the bard's indignant face, her hand raised as if to slap Zevran. When he returned, he was smiling, though, and that night, Leliana whispered something into Alistair's ear. He blushed, but later in the evening, he joined her in her tent.

When they broke camp next morning, Alistair was his old likeable self again, happy, relaxed and ready for any jest, with a hint of a swagger in his step.

Cat looked at her lover. "What in the Maker's name did you tell Leliana?" she asked.

Zevran shrugged. "Just that, while a little delay always helps to make things more... interesting, she'd better not drive her sweet Templar completely insane, if she wants to enjoy him."

Cat threw him a look from under half-closed lids. "So you think a little delayed gratification makes things more interesting, do you?"

"It most certainly does," he replied with a smug expression. "Of course, that would demand a degree of restraint that not everyone possesses..."

She smiled impishly. "Not everyone, eh? Zev, my love, what would you say to a little wager?"

His ears pricked up. "Oh? This should be interesting." They'd recently taken to playing cards in the evenings, trying to catch each other cheating. This, however, sounded a lot more intriguing.

"A simple bet. First one to lose control, loses the wager," she suggested.

He laughed. "You don't stand a chance, carissima, you know that, yes? But if you insist... What are the rules?"

She answered without a moment's hesitation. "Just eyes, words, chaste touches. No hands on bare skin, except for the hands and face. No fondling, no embraces."

He grinned, liking this better every minute. "That sounds fair. And what will you do when I win?"

" _If_ you win," she corrected him, "I will tidy up and clean your tent, top to bottom." He knew how much she hated cleaning.

"I'll accept that," he said after a moment's consideration.

"And if _I_ win," she went on, "you'll have to bathe Fluffy."

Zev took a look at the huge Mabari and shuddered. Bathing Fluffy was a messy, malodorous affair, and Zevran was fastidious about his appearance. "Deal," he confirmed, and they set off towards Denerim.

The first day wasn't too hard. Of course Zevran took advantage of every little chink in the rules, brushing his hands softly against hers every chance he got, gripping her firmly around the waist to 'help' her over a creek, making suggestive remarks whenever the others were out of earshot. She paid him back in kind by letting her hips sway just a tiny bit more whenever she walked in front of him, laughing a little too breathlessly, fastening her armour a little loosely so he could frequently catch glimpses of soft white flesh. "Tease," she heard him growl, when she took off her helmet and shook out her hair at their lunch break. His hoarse voice made her shiver. They were both enjoying themselves immensely.

In the evening, Zevran was preparing to set up his own tent when she stopped him. "I do think we should share a tent, don't you? After all, we wouldn't want anyone to... cheat," she purred.

His eyes widened for a moment, as the images she conjured up with her words made his imagination soar. Her body writhing on the bedroll, her hands touching her breasts, playing between her legs... He cleared his throat. "Of course," he answered glibly.

When Cat woke up early next morning, he lay curled up around her body, his hand softly cupping her breast. For a moment she pressed against him instinctively, rubbing her back against his hardness, then she remembered the wager and stiffened. He groaned in his sleep and she felt his hand caressing her nipples, her body eagerly responding.

With a determined grip she removed his hand, eliciting a small chuckle from him. "What?" he exclaimed innocently when she glared at him. "I can't be held responsible for what I do in my sleep, can I?"

At the sound of his voice, of his damnably beguiling accent, she felt a hot flame deep inside her. She swallowed hard, when she looked at him, his naked torso, his sleep-tousled hair, the full lips, the sleepy golden eyes... He knew it, of course, the bastard. Throwing him a dark look, she crawled out of the tent, and he followed close behind. It took all her restraint not to snarl at Leliana when she saw the bard's happy, sated expression.

The second day was pure torture. Every time she noticed his eyes on her, her skin seemed to burn under his gaze. She didn't dare touch him any more. Her mind was flooded with images that made her blush. Her irritable mood didn't go unnoticed, and Alistair looked at her in hurt bewilderment when she rudely brushed off his worried questions about her well-being. Zevran, for his part, couldn't keep his eyes off her. The way she was worrying her lower lip in frustration, the subtle gooseflesh he noticed on her arms when he accidentally touched her in passing, the intoxicating scent he breathed in when he came closer to her, very nearly made him come undone.

When they made camp that night, they entered the tent wordlessly, not trusting their voices if they spoke, and lay down without touching. The air between them was so thick with tension that it could have been cut with a knife. He heard her toss and turn as he lay awake, cursing silently. How could she have such an effect on him? He fought off images of her naked in his arms, desperately disciplining his thoughts. More than once he toyed with the idea of throwing the stupid wager to the wind, but his pride wouldn't let him admit defeat. When he finally fell into a fitful sleep, his dreams were so graphic and detailed that he woke up shaking with desire, unsure of whether he was dreaming or awake.

The darkspawn attack later that morning came almost as a relief. As he focussed on the fighting, on the rapid, intricate dance of his blades, on his silent, deadly moves, he felt his head clear for a while. And when they washed off the gore in a little icy creek, the cold water was soothing to his frazzled nerves. Yet, as the day wore off, the craving returned in full force, even more burning than before.

When they were finishing their stew that night, he caught her eye, and her expression made him almost moan out aloud. For a blinding moment he wanted to grab her, to take her there and then. She must have felt it too, for she got up abruptly and walked away towards the trees' edge.

"Don't walk too far," Alistair called after her in a worried tone.

"I'll be fine," she replied. "I'm taking Fluffy, he'll smell any danger."

Zevran's eyes followed her every move until he caught Morrigan's languid, amused gaze. Cursing under his breath, he took out his daggers and began to clean them, carefully whetting the slim, curved blades. The others drifted away to their tents, Sten taking first watch. It was still light and fairly warm; he could even hear birds sing in the trees.

He was pondering whether he should follow her, when he heard the faint noise of Fluffy's bark in the distance. In a flash, he was on his feet, grabbing his weapons and following the noise.

He found her backed up against a rocky outcrop, surrounded by dead wolves. Two of them had had their throats torn out by Fluffy, the third and fourth had been sliced neatly by her blade. There were three more, though, circling her and the dog warily, ready to attack, and he saw a flash of relief cross her face at his timely arrival. Together, they made short work of the remaining beasts.

As they were walking away from the carnage, he turned to her with a worried frown. "Are you hurt?"

There was a small spattering of blood on her sleeve, and he reached out to let his hand run gently over it. His brief touch made them both gasp, and he felt the carefully built dams of his control break within the wink of an eye. He could see her gaze burning with the same feverish desire, and suddenly her lips were on his, neither of them knowing which had moved first.

His mouth was scorching hot, setting her whole body on fire, as he pushed her back roughly against the trunk of a tree. She moaned his name between kisses, and they sank down on the soft moss, quickly discarding their armour, their hands shaking with passion. When he thrust inside her, they both cried out, overcome by the rightness of it, the sheer naturalness with which their bodies joined. The sounds and images of the forest around them faded away, and for what felt like an eternity there was nothing but the softness of their skin, the heat of their bodies, the burning, ardent urgency of their desire.

When Cat finally opened her eyes again, Fluffy whined at her accusingly from his place a few yards away. Dusk was approaching rapidly, and she shivered in the evening cool. Zevran rolled off her, one eyebrow raised in question. "Well, carissima, so who do you think won our little wager?"

She laughed a little shakily. "I guess we'll have to call it a draw."

 


	13. Language Lessons

**Chapter 13:** **Language Lessons**

Cat and her companions had left the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest behind and were approaching Denerim once more. Alistair and Leliana held hands for most of the time, like young lovers, and Cat could hardly hide her smile. _It's about time. Alistair deserves some happiness._ They were actually rather cute.

When Leliana set off to scout ahead for a good campsite, Cat noticed Alistair falling into step beside Zevran. She was surprised. The two men had made their peace with each other, but it was still unusual for Alistair to seek out the assassin's company. She quickly looked for an excuse to get closer to them and managed to overhear a few sentences of their conversation.

Alistair was swallowing, trying not to look at Zevran's face. "Zev, I... wanted to ask you.... Have you... had very many women in your time? I mean... you seem like the sort of man who would...?

Zevran glanced at the young Warden with a knowing grin. "I have indulged from time to time, perhaps, when my interest is not elsewhere...." He laughed merrily at Alistair's tortured look. "Ah, who am I kidding? Too many to count, my friend, but why do you ask?"

"Well, you see...." Alistair's head snapped around when he noticed that Cat was close, and she could see his ears take on a pink tinge. "Forget I asked."

Zevran smirked, but let the topic rest. Cat smiled at him, but she couldn't help the brief pang she had felt at his words. _Too many to count._ Of course she had always known. It wasn't as if he had made a secret of his preferred technique of... assassination. Still, his words were eating at her, more than she cared to admit to herself.

That night, when they had retired to their tent, Cat snuggled up to Zevran, happy to be in his arms. But when he kissed her and his hands began to caress her back, she stopped him. "Not now, Zev." She ignored his surprised face. "Do you think you could teach me to speak Antivan?"

He looked at her in disbelief, surprised by the unaccustomed rejection. "You want to learn my language?"

"Well, some of it." She chewed pensively on her lower lip. "I only know a few words so far. I want to know more. I want to understand you."

Zevran grinned wickedly. "It seems to me that so far you have had no trouble understanding me, no? You know what I mean when I tell you you're _bellissima_ ," his lips trailed along her neck, "or if I ask you for _un_ _bacio_..."

His lips met hers, but she wiggled out of his embrace and sat up, unwilling to be distracted. "I'm serious, Zev. I... I would like to know what I could call you, for example. What do women call their lovers in Antiva?"

Zevran frowned for a moment, clearly irritated by her request, but she could see he was considering his answer with care. "Well, there's always _tesoro_... my treasure, or _amore_ , of course. Or _cuore mio_ , my heart. As for the others..." he made a moue of distaste. "They are all rather sickly sweet. Mostly names of cute little animals, and I really wouldn't appreciate being called 'little rabbit' or 'cuddly bear'."

Cat giggled. "No, that wouldn't suit you. At all." She grew serious again. "Isn't there anything... special?"

He lay back with a sigh, pulling her on top of him, giving her a searching look. He knew her well enough to realize that there was something deeper going on behind this sudden interest in a foreign language. "What's the matter, Catalina? Why would it have to be special?"

She blushed. "I... Zev, I want to have a name for you that no one has used before. There have been so many others...." She saw a flash of something dark cross his face, but she couldn't stop herself. "It makes me worry, Zev, it makes me afraid that when we make love, you don't know... who you're with, you don't know it's _me_ in your arms."

"You are afraid of _what_?" His voice had become a low growl. She could see a tempest rise in his eyes, a fury so intense that she instinctively cowered back, frightened by his reaction. His hand gripped her neck, roughly, pulling her back to him. "Do you even know what it is you are saying?"

"I... no, Zev, I am sorry. I didn't mean..." She was babbling now, wishing she had kept quiet. "It's just... look, please forget what I said, it was stupid."

Zevran shook his head, calmer now, but determined. "No, _amore_ , you don't get off that easily. I am going to _show_ you how stupid it is." Then his lips claimed hers, hard and merciless and she moaned at the sudden heat. He was hot, he seemed on the verge of burning, of scorching her with his hands, with his mouth, with the incredible intensity of his rage - or was it his desire? Her clothes came off within minutes and his hands seemed to be everywhere on her body at once. She was unsure how he managed to take off his own clothes, but somehow they both ended up naked.

He pushed her back onto the bedroll and knelt in front of her. "Look at me, Catalina." His voice was liquid fire and she gasped at the sight of him, the hard lean muscles of his chest and stomach, his golden skin with its artful pattern of tattoos, his magnificently erect cock. "Look at me! _This_ is how much I want you. You! No one else." And then his lips were on her again, finding every spot guaranteed to make her cry out with pleasure and she realized his heat was contagious, felt the same fire pooling at her crotch, spreading from there to envelop her entire body.

Zevran had moved between her legs and was teasing her with his hardness, sliding against her. "I know exactly who you are, _dolce cuore_ , I know it better than you know yourself." He was still furious, she could tell by the catch in his voice, even if his movements were controlled and he took care not to hurt her as he thrust inside her.

Cat almost cried out loud then, throwing back her head and closing her eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation. "Open your eyes, _cara, look_ at me!" he snarled. It was a command, not a request, and she obeyed without thinking, losing herself in the incredible intensity of his amber eyes. They seemed to glow from within with a searing flame, and as he took her slowly but inexorably toward her peak, he never let go of her gaze, held it, as if he wanted to burn her image into his mind.

Not even in the final moment, when she was writhing under him in ecstasy, pulsing around him, her whole body trembling, did he allow her to look away, to close her eyes. She had never felt so thoroughly exposed, so at his mercy and yet so incredibly close to him, without even the flimsy barrier of her eyelids between them.

"I'm here with you, my love. No one else is on my mind." Zevran's voice still sounded grim, but she saw his expression get softer, his aggressive stance falter as he melted inside her, overtaken by love and desire.

He held her close afterwards, his gaze tender now. "None of the others count, _amore_." His voice was so passionate that it made her tremble. "It's you, just you, _ieri, oggi, domani_. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. I am yours."

 


	14. From Antiva with Love

**Chapter 14: From Antiva with Love**

When the messenger boy came up to them and gave her Ignacio's letter, Cat's first reaction was complete and utter disbelief. The _Crows_ wanted to talk to her? She'd expected more attacks, certainly, another attempt on her life, or maybe someone contacting Zevran on the sly. But this?

Her curiosity piqued, she assembled a small group of her friends to go and meet Ignacio. Zevran, of course - she would need his help in evaluating the situation. Sten, because it never hurt to have a huge Qunari bodyguard at your side when you went to negotiate with assassins. And Wynne, in case things got nasty and they needed healing.

She needn't have worried, though. Ignacio proved to be perfectly civil. In fact, according to him, the Crows were interested in getting _her_ to work for _them_. Confused, she looked at Zevran for advice. Ignacio's eyes followed her gaze.

"Zevran, is it? You aren't my responsibility. Taliesin sends his love, though." The Crow grinned briefly. "In my eyes, you're already dead."

Cat felt a shiver travel down her spine at the implication, but she schooled her face to remain calm. Zevran acknowledged the other man's words with a curt nod; he'd expected nothing else. He knew well enough that Taliesin wouldn't give up, ever. He would hunt down Zevran and the Warden; that much was certain. A Crow contract could never be cancelled.

Cat was still unsure what to make of the assassin's offer. "I will need some time to consider," she stated.

Ignacio just shrugged. "Look, you see this chest behind me? If you should take it into your head to look inside, you will find a contract in there. Whether you take it, is entirely up to you. It is none of my business. If you prove helpful, however, I will make sure there will never be a contract on your head again. And we won't harm him, if he's important to you." He gestured toward Zevran, contempt clearly visible on his face.

Cat bit her lip, then she led her little party over to the tavern's taproom to discuss the proposal. When she threw Zevran a questioning look, he smiled.

"Ahhh, my sweet, I am all for it. If it works out, it will certainly make you and me a little safer from the Crows. And I assure you that you can rely on Ignacio's word in this."

She nodded, her face pensive. "Yes, but it might mean we have to kill innocent people. What then?"

He sighed. "My dear, but who is truly innocent? I doubt our designated marks will be. Besides, d _eath happens_ , as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often."

Wynne's face grew dark at his frivolous words, and she snorted disapprovingly as she turned to Zevran. "It's hardly that simple. You must know that murder is wrong, I assume. That is why you wished to leave your Crows, isn't it? A crisis of conscience."

Zevran's grin grew wider. "That's... one way of seeing it. But really, my darling Wynne, we all do our share of murdering around here, don't we?"

Cat sighed, mentally tuning out their bickering. It was obvious she couldn't count on Wynne to help her in this. She'd have to ask Morrigan. While the witch wasn't as good a healer as Wynne, she was a formidable ally in any fight, and it was refreshing to be with someone who took a more relaxed moral stance.

The moral choices turned out not to be too hard after all. Their first mark, Paedan, was hiding in a backroom of the Pearl. When they confronted him, it turned out that he'd been the brains behind a plan to lure Grey Warden loyalists into the brothel and kill them there. He attacked them before they even had a chance to make the first strike, but they dispatched him and his associates swiftly and definitively. When it was over, Cat looked down at the bodies and shrugged. They would have had to deal with him sooner or later anyway. The Crow reward was just an additional bonus.

Their next task, an attack on a bunch of Qunari mercenaries, was a lot harder to accomplish, but again the decision whether to kill them turned out to be surprisingly clear-cut. The Kadan-Fe attacked them on sight - small wonder perhaps, as the Qunari were carrying Gwaren shields and seemed to have been hired by Loghain. Morrigan's spells decided the battle soon enough.

On their way back to town, they made camp near a small stream, a tributary of the River Drakon. Zevran was glad for the chance to freshen up and disappeared immediately for a quick bath in the icy water. When he returned, Cat was deep in conversation with Leliana. The bard's face had carried a haunted look ever since they had met and confronted her former mentor, Marjolaine, a while ago. They hadn't killed the woman, but Leliana had seemed shaken by the other bard's accusations, for reasons Zevran couldn't grasp.

He could hear her voice now, anxious, her Orlesian accent more pronounced than ever, as she talked to Cat, an intense expression on her face.

"You see, Cat, what we're doing... what we've done. Hunted men down and killed them. Part of me _loves_ it. It invigorates me and this scares me. I... I feel myself slipping."

Zevran couldn't see Cat's face, but her voice sounded cool and collected. "I know the feeling, Leliana. You're not slipping. This is who you are. Don't punish yourself for doing something you enjoy."

Leliana's pretty eyes widened at this, but it was obvious Cat's words had made an impression. Zevran felt stunned. Of course he knew his Warden didn't share Leliana's pious scruples, but to hear her state it so bluntly...

He was in for another surprise when they returned to Denerim and, at Alistair's request, went to look for his long-lost sister. Cat was the only one to accompany him inside Goldanna's house. They weren't gone for long, though, and when they returned it was obvious the conversation hadn't gone well. The former Templar looked shattered, almost ready to cry, as he pulled Cat aside for a few words in private. Zevran did his best to listen, but all he heard were her last words, as she turned away from Alistair, her face pale and drawn.

"Everyone is out for themselves, Alistair. You should learn that."

Alistair seemed shocked, but fortunately, Leliana stepped up to the young man at this point, putting a gentle hand on his sleeve and whispering a few words in his ear. His expression softened, and the two of them went off together without another word to the Warden.

Zevran and Cat made their way to the Gnawed Noble to pick up their reward and a new killing contract from Ignacio, then settled at the bar for a snack and a glass of ale. He watched her face as they were eating, contemplating her changed demeanour.

"You have been acting very tough lately, carissima," he observed quietly. "I wonder whether it was unwise to accept Ignacio's offer."

She bristled immediately at this. " _You_ are telling me this, Zev? That's rich. Whatever became of 'the thrill of the hunt'?"

He flinched as he heard his own words from her lips. He hadn't realized she had been listening when he'd talked to Leliana a few days ago.

"Or how about 'when the prey is caught, it deserves a good death, a clean death'?" She snorted, and he realized belatedly that he'd got himself into trouble.

"Now, don't be mad at me, my sweet," he pleaded. "It's just... you're too young to think like that, no?"

"Too young? Too _young_? Oh come on, Zevran Arainai! You're a few years older than I am, at the most." He could see she was warming up now, unwilling to let it go. "Not to mention that now, suddenly I'm too young for this, yet all the while you expect me to put up with being your...". She was searching for words.

"My what?" He could hear his voice, sounding a lot sharper than he had intended. He had aimed for a casual, bantering tone, but failed miserably.

Cat closed her eyes, a pained expression on her face. "Oh, Zev! To you, it is all fun, isn't it? Everything's just a game. Our love-making, Taliesin's threats, the danger we're in... you don't care. Honestly, you're hardly in a position to accuse _me_ of being cynical."

He was more shocked than he cared to admit. Did she really believe that he was indifferent? Surely after all these months she had to know... He felt an overwhelming urge to grab her, to shake her, to make her see what was in his heart, but at the same time he was completely tongue-tied, even as she glared at him, expecting an answer from him.

She exhaled loudly, throwing him an exasperated glance. "You are... I need to get out of here," she growled, and headed for the door. Outside in the courtyard, she briefly stopped for breath. She saw the door open and for a moment felt a bright flash of hope, then tasted a sudden bitter tang of disappointment in her mouth as two drunken patrons left the inn. She realized she was waiting for him to follow her and cursed herself for her foolishness. _Not him, never._ Quickly she walked off into the dark.

When she passed the kennels, she heard Fluffy whine and decided to take him along. Better to be safe than sorry. Only seconds later, she saw a huge shadow emerge from the inn's wall, and her hands went to her dagger, but then she recognized Sten's unmistakable silhouette.

"It would be unwise to walk around alone at night, kadan." His voice, expressionless as always, was curiously soothing. She nodded curtly and set off, the two of them in tow.

Zevran's eyes followed her as she left the room, and he noticed her throw back a last quick glance at him. Should he go after her, ask her to come back? For a moment, he was undecided, his head spinning with uncertainty, an unfamiliar feeling of dread gripping his stomach. _No_. Zevran felt his pride rising and turned to the stairs to go up to their room instead.

Yet, as he closed the door behind him, he felt haunted by the memory of her face, the pain and the disappointment he had seen so clearly. He sighed and began removing his armour.


	15. All the Time in the World

**Chapter 15: All the Time in the World**

It was late at night when Cat finally came back to the inn. She had wandered all over Denerim for several hours, unable to come to terms with the white-hot fury boiling inside her belly whenever she thought of Zevran's words. _Too young indeed!_ She couldn't recall the last time she'd been so angry at _anyone_. She'd walked and walked, repeating the dialogue a million times in her head, raging and fuming, until at last she had been so exhausted she had stumbled over a cobblestone.

Sten had caught her easily, but had been completely clueless when she clung to him desperately, crying for long minutes against his broad chest. She almost smiled as she recalled his perplexed face, the ineffectual patting of his hands on her back. In the end, Fluffy had been the one to calm her, whining softly, pushing his nose against her hand, and she had apologized to Sten, turning around to head back to the inn.

When she opened the door to their room, the first thing she saw was Zevran, kneeling in front of the fireplace to stoke the fire. He had taken off his shirt and was only wearing breeches. For a second she had to catch her breath as she took in the sheer beauty of him. Long strands of golden hair fell loosely over his shoulders, free from their usual braiding. His bronzed skin was shimmering in the firelight, and the intricate dark red curves of the large tattoo on his back seemed to hug his long, lean muscles, to underscore the utter perfection of his body. He was moving with easy grace, as usual, as he turned his head to look at her, and she was relieved to see him smile tentatively at her.

She walked up to him and got down on her knees, embracing him and letting her forehead rest against his. "Zev..."

He sighed deeply, and she felt his strong arms encircling her, pulling her close. "You're back," was all he said.

"Zev, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Please, forgive me."

He let his lips brush over her temples. "There's nothing to forgive, my sweet. You were right, I was being hypocritical. It is I who should be sorry."

Cat shook her head. "I didn't mean what I said. I... I guess I'm just exhausted. Alistair and Leliana, they came to me with their troubles, and I thought I could help them sort it all out, but now I've only made things worse." She curled up in his arms, hiding her face against his chest, breathing in his scent and revelling in his warmth. "Everyone always seems to think I have the solutions, and I keep failing them all."

He kissed her hair, then pulled her up, looking into her eyes. "No, you don't, my sweet, not at all. You are a marvellous leader. But now you are tired, and you have to stop thinking about the others for a while, yes? Look, we've got a room to ourselves, the night is young... Please let me make it alright for you."

He could feel her hand in his hair, impatiently pulling him down into a rough kiss, while her fingers went down to his pants, starting to undo the laces.

"Yes, Zev, please..." she groaned, but he gently pushed her hand away, interlacing his fingers with hers, before he lifted her hand to his lips to kiss every fingertip in turn.

"Patience, carissima. We have time now, just for love. Relax, and leave all those cares and troubles far behind you."

Very slowly, he began to unbuckle her armour, removing each part of it with practised moves, planting soft little kisses on every piece of skin he exposed. She closed her eyes and let him proceed, delivering herself completely to his touches, his tenderness, his care. When he'd finished removing the leather pieces, he took a moment to unbraid her hair, turning her around in his lap so he could brush the dark red strands. She leaned back into his sensual touch, relaxing, while at the same time she felt a familiar hunger growing inside her.

He finished brushing and parted her hair at the nape of her neck, kissing the soft white skin, while his hands began to slowly unlace her shirt. She moaned almost inaudibly and leaned back further into his embrace, feeling safe and warm and loved. How could she ever have questioned his feelings for her? If only he could say it once, though... She sighed. His heart was hidden under so many protective layers of playfulness, banter and flippancy, she wondered if he himself knew what secrets it held.

The soft linen of her shirt slid down over her shoulders and she felt him all along her back now, naked skin on naked skin, so warm, so sweet, so _right_. His hands remained unhurried as they began to stroke her skin with the lightest of touches, all over her body, sparing her breasts at first, then returning, his touch becoming firmer, more determined. She let her head loll back against his shoulder, and his mouth briefly caught hers in a feather-light kiss. His lips were soft and he tasted of honey and spices, and she couldn't resist burying her hand in his hair, pulling him closer for another kiss. He laughed quietly and acquiesced, catching her lower lip between his teeth for a moment before he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth, claiming her with such passion it took her breath away.

Cat turned around in his arms and knelt before him as she helped him remove her pants, then his. When they were both naked, he pulled her down onto the rug and for a while, they just lay stretched out in front of the fire, enjoying the feel of their bodies touching, rubbing against each other like cats begging for a treat.

Then his hands resumed their exploration of her body, and his lips and tongue followed suit, painting complex patterns of pleasure on her skin. She leaned into his touch, arching up to meet his mouth, mutely begging for more, but he wouldn't be hurried, not this time.

Her hands began to reach for his body. She wanted to feel him so badly, and she felt him shudder under her touch as she traced his muscles, following the lines of the tattoos all over his glorious body, down to his groin and closer to his pulsing erection.

He groaned and grabbed her hands, moving them up to his shoulders again. "Not so fast, my beauty," he panted, his lips against hers, his hot breath mingling with hers.

"Please, Zev, I want..." she begged, and she heard him laugh softly.

"What do you want, my lovely?" he murmured against her cheek. "Tell me..."

Cat cursed, making him laugh again. "You know, you damned Antivan bastard... I want _you_ , deep inside me, making love to me, please Zev..."

"Shhh, my sweet, not yet."

She couldn't believe it, but he still held out. "We have plenty of time, enough for all the precious things love has in store for you." She whimpered with impatience, but he wouldn't be dissuaded. With infuriating slowness, he parted her legs and let his fingers brush softly over her sex. She gasped as she felt a spark travel up her spine, and she pushed her hips up desperately, eager for more.

"So impatient..." he whispered. "Well, if you _really_ can't wait..." He sat up and pulled her onto his lap, facing him, her legs wrapped around his slender hips. When she felt his hard length against her, she moaned, her nails scratching over his back, her eyes dark with desire as she writhed against him.

"Zev, please, now..." Her voice was raspy with need as she took hold of him and tried to push herself down on his shaft, but his grip on her hips was firm. Inch by inch he lowered her, wanting her to savour every moment as he slowly filled her, his eyes fixed on her face, watching her expression avidly.

Cat thought she would die with pleasure. His soft, slow movements were the most exquisite torture she'd ever experienced. Her skin was tingling, her whole body taut with longing, and she felt the heat build deep inside her, growing until she was sure it would consume her whole being. She trembled all over, and she felt herself go tight around him, wanting to draw him inside her, deeper, closer, until he became a part of her.

For a moment he froze, holding her in a vise-like grip, struggling for control. "Just... a moment, carissima," he gasped as he went taut under her, holding on only by iron willpower. After a few seconds, she heard him breathe again, and he resumed his careful rhythm. She felt her body respond immediately, the fire inside her burning higher and higher, until she was afraid to let go, certain that her body couldn't take it, that she would faint in his arms.

Zevran sensed her hesitation and pushed her back on the floor so she was lying under him, her hair spread out around her face, her expression open and vulnerable. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down at her, then he carefully positioned himself between her legs again, found and held her gaze and began to move.

"Zevran, I can't..." she moaned, and he increased his tempo, not holding back any longer.

"Now, my sweet, now," he commanded, and he held her firmly, closely, watching her fall apart in his arms, her face flushed with pleasure, utterly helpless, completely undone. When he heard her cry out, he let go at last and followed her over the edge, consumed by the heat of her body against his. He lost himself for a moment and, in a blinding flash of clarity, knew this was where he belonged, this was where he needed to be, this was what he wanted. Nothing more, nothing less. Only her.

Afterwards he held her tight and felt her drift away to sleep, exhausted and happy. "We have all the time in the world, my sweet," he whispered against her hair. "All the time in the world, just for love."


	16. Cat Burglars

**Chapter 16: Cat Burglars**

They were back in Denerim, where they had spent all week re-provisioning, selling useless trinkets, buying potions and injury kits. Now they were trying on armour at Wade's, and Alistair and Sten both sported shiny new breastplates and helmets. They were about to leave the emporium, when Cat spotted a beautiful set of leather armour in the corner. It was so dark as to be almost black, very plain, without patterns or decorations, but when she touched it, the leather was incredibly soft to the touch and she felt the magic sizzling through it.

Herren came over and smiled at her enchanted face. "Ah, you've noticed this. It's a particularly well-crafted piece. So soft you won't even feel it, so light you'll move with the grace of a panther, but magically hardened so no blade or arrow will pierce it. Only eight gold pieces for you."

She swallowed. They'd never be able to afford this, not with the amount of money they'd just spent on the warriors' gear. Oh, but she _wanted_ this armour, she _coveted_ it.

Zevran saw the look on her face and laughed softly. "I feel almost jealous, love," he whispered in her ear.

They wandered over to the Gnawed Noble Tavern in silence, settling down at the bar. "Why so grim?" the barkeep inquired jovially.

Cat cursed violently. "Why does everything in this thrice-damned town have to be so expensive?" she snarled in frustration.

"Well, now, if you're looking to make some coin and aren't too picky, I might have some... opportunities for you," the man muttered.

"How much coin are we talking here?" Cat's face lit up as the bartender quickly outlined several jobs involving the retrieval of compromising letters, the theft of mementoes that had become embarrassments and other work of the shady kind. A quick computation showed her that they'd be looking at a minimum of 20 Gold for the combined list. Zevran was just as enthusiastic. The day before he'd seen a set of Antivan daggers that he wanted to give her as a gift. The long sleek weapons were beautifully crafted, with carved hilts and wicked blades, sharp as sin. With a tiny touch of poison on the blades, they'd be deadlier than any greatsword. If only money hadn't been quite so tight.

Wynne's lips tightened in disapproval. "It's not my place to tell you what to do, Cat, but don't rely on my help in this," she declared. Both Alistair and Sten seemed to agree with the mage, and even Morrigan made it abundantly clear that the two rogues would be alone in this.

Zevran smiled. "I'm with you if you want, my beautiful. There'll be a bigger share for each of us if the others aren't interested."

The assignments turned out to be a source of pure enjoyment for both of them. They'd scale the rooftops at night, moving with silent grace through the darkness, enjoying the thrill of secrecy and stealth. Zevran would take the lead, scout out the surroundings, find a way in over balconies and through seemingly inaccessible windows, while she would take care of locks and traps. They worked together in perfect synchronicity, and it took them only three nights to complete all the assignments but one.

They left the most difficult task for the fourth night - a huge noble estate guarded by dogs and armed mercenaries, where they had to retrieve a misguided missive written by a young lady cursed with singularly bad judgment. Everything went smoothly. The dogs went to sleep happily after a meal of drugged beefsteak, the guards never knew what hit them from behind, and the locks of the study door and the huge wooden desk presented no serious obstacle to Cat's nimble fingers. They quickly made their way back over the rooftops and had almost reached their inn, when they paused for breath. Zevran seemed almost drunk with elation as he pulled her into a passionate embrace, kissing her deeply and murmuring seductive words into her ear. Then, as he turned back, his attention caught up for a split second by her soft sigh, his foot slipped on a loose tile and he slithered over the roof's edge. He managed to land almost without a noise, but she could hear him gasp. In the wink of an eye, she was at his side. His ankle looked curiously twisted and he seemed to be in pain, but he clung to her shoulders without a sound, as they quickly made their way back into their room.

Only once they were safely indoors did he allow a steady stream of words in his native tongue to pass his lips. Cat had only learned a few words of Antivan so far, but she didn't doubt that she was just listening to some of the most profane and obscene swearwords she'd ever come across.

"I'll go wake Wynne," she sighed. He nodded grimly, less than enthusiastic to have another witness to this embarrassing incident, but he knew just as well as she did that his leg would need expert treatment if he wanted to remain as agile as he was.

Wynne entered the room, her face a silent mask of reproof, as she quickly examined his ankle. "The bone is broken," she said. "I can set it for you, but it will hurt. A lot."

Zevran shook his head impatiently at her warning, motioning for her to get on with it. As she gently grasped his foot and sensed the bones slide into their proper place, Wynne could feel him tense. Little beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, but to her surprise, he didn't utter the tiniest sound of pain. Of course, she realized. His Crow training had probably included lessons in how to stand up to torture. Despite herself, she was impressed.

"Right," she said. "I'll put on a poultice to take the pain away and cast a spell that will make the bone mend quickly, but you mustn't move the leg, at least for this one night, preferably longer." She looked at Cat. "Make him rest the leg, I don't care how. Tie him to the bed if you have to."

The mage left with a final reproachful look, and Cat dropped on the bed next to her lover with a sigh of relief. "Maker, I'm glad. I was really worried about you for a moment."

Zevran made a small soothing sound and put his arms around her, pulling her into a long deep kiss. She sighed contentedly at the touch of his naked body, but then he shifted below her and she felt him tense in pain. Immediately she pulled out of his embrace. "Now, be good, Zev, you heard what she said," she scolded him.

Zevran grinned, remembering the mage's choice of words. "Well, what are you going to do about it?" he breathed, a wicked glint in his eyes.

To his surprise Cat didn't blush but smiled too, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips, as she reached for her pack. His eyes went wide when she produced a set of thin leather straps and quickly fastened his wrists to the bedposts. He tested the knots. They were firm but he was pretty sure he could get them off if he really wanted to.

As she proceeded to remove his pants and tie his legs to the bed, taking special care with the injured one, he couldn't resist asking.

"You seem to be awfully familiar with the... mechanics of this, cara mia. Where did you learn this?"

She glanced back over her shoulder with a quick smile. "When we were at the Pearl three days ago, I asked Sanga about their more exotic services. Especially the ones that don't involve nugs. She was _very_ helpful."

Zevran was stunned. She never ceased to surprise him. As soon as she had him tied securely, she moved to the foot of the bed where he could see her and began to slowly, seductively take off her shirt, then her pants. Her hair had grown out a little lately, and she had taken to wearing it in a short braid on their nightly excursions. Now she undid the clasp and softly shook out the red strands. A warm feeling began to spread in his belly at the sight of her beautiful naked body.

He was still a little wary, though, knowing that what she had in mind required considerable skill to pull off. He needn't have worried. Within minutes, her hands and lips and tongues brought him to a point where he began to strain against his bonds. As she moved across his body, slowly caressing every inch of skin, he felt his nerves begin to tingle. She watched his reactions, remembering what he'd taught her, always ready to move to another sensitive spot, to adapt the pressure of her hands, the tempo of her tongue's quick strokes. When she let the soft strands of her hair brush slowly over his nipples, he gave a hoarse groan. She took her time as she moved in a tantalizingly slow spiral ever closer to his groin, where his arousal had by now become only too evident.

Zevran felt as if every single tendon in his body was stretched to breaking point, when she finally carefully let her tongue swipe over his tip. He arched into her touch, but at the same time he realized that he wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. "Cara, if you want me..." he warned, his voice strangled with desire.

She laughed softly as she straddled him, teasing him with her hot wet core. Just as he thought he couldn't take it any longer, she quickly moved, impaling herself on his length. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing her to keep still, and she thankfully obliged.

But then, while he was still busy catching his breath again, he felt a soft ripple of muscles along his shaft. He fought for breath, the feeling so intense that he nearly lost control.

"Do that again!" he moaned, and she obeyed willingly. "Ye Gods! Did you learn this from Sanga too?" he managed to gasp.

She laughed again, satisfied with his reaction. "Yes, I did, actually. I asked her about the secret of her success, and she... explained."

If it had been possible for him to be even more aroused, the thought of this conversation between the two would have done the trick, but as it was, he just couldn't wait. "Cat!" he panted against her skin, and she finally took pity on him. With a swift move, she cut the ties holding his hands with her dagger, leaving him free to grasp her hips and grind her against him in a fierce motion. The single hard thrust was enough to finish him off, his body bucking up hard against hers, his mind consumed by a violent shockwave of lust. She rode him for a few more seconds, crying out when her lust reached a sharp, acute peak, then she sank down on top of him, her warm body covering his.

As she softly untied his legs, pulled a warm blanket over his body and nestled close to him, Zevran was still reeling from the tempest that had ripped through him. He shivered, as they both drifted off towards sleep.

When Wynne returned the next morning to check on his ankle, she seemed content. "Just don't overdo it for a week or so and it should be as good as new," she commanded. "No more rooftop adventures, that's for sure."

"A pity!" Zev muttered with a meaningful look over her shoulder at Cat.

She returned his gaze with a wicked grin. "A pity indeed," she murmured softly.


	17. No Words Necessary

**Chapter 17: No Words Necessary**

In a few days, their party was going to set out for Orzammar and the Deep Roads. Cat was excited and worried at the same time at the prospect. This would be the crucial test of her abilities as a Warden. No one went into the Deep Roads but a few hardy dwarves - and the Grey Wardens.

They had withdrawn into their room at the inn early that night. Cat took up her favourite place on the wooden bench in front of the window, with a view of Denerim's busy marketplace. She wasn't in the mood for talking tonight, she needed time to think.

Fondly, she looked over at Zevran who was carefully disassembling and cleaning his favourite leather armour. One of the things she loved most about him was the way he took so much care with his gear and with his appearance. Approvingly, she let her gaze travel over his immaculate white shirt, his carefully brushed and braided blond hair. He was scrubbing the leather breastplate with saddle soap, sponging away tiny spots of blood. When he was satisfied, he began to apply oil to the soft dark leather. Cat watched his hands, his long dexterous fingers moving with light quick strokes, and breathed in the fragrance of the leather and the oil. She felt utterly at peace with him.

Zevran looked up briefly and smiled at her pensive face. Much as he loved her vivacious temperament, it was moments like this that he enjoyed particularly. Sitting here quietly with her made him realize how close they had grown, how vital her presence had become for his happiness. Underneath all the pride and swagger, all he really craved was to be with her. With a small contented sigh he reached for the Dalish leather gloves she'd given him and carefully began to remove some speckles of dirt with a soft cloth.

She smiled when she saw the gloves and let her thoughts drift back to the day when she'd found them at an abandoned campsite out in the Brecilian Forest. At the sight of the soft leather with its downy fur lining she had immediately been reminded of the heart-breaking story he had told her of his mother, and she knew she had found the perfect gift. He'd been deeply moved and had worn them ever since.

It seemed strange, she mused, that his mother had been Dalish. He was so different from the Elves they'd encountered in the Forest, those haughty creatures that would have preferred to avoid all contact with humans. Zevran seemed to have nothing in common with them. In fact, most of the time she didn't even think of him as Elven. Antivan, yes, with his tanned skin and exotic looks. An assassin, by all means, dangerous and lethal. But Dalish?

And yet - he had seemed subtly different during the time they'd spent with Zathrian's clan. She vividly recalled the nights at Sarel's campfire, where they had sat listening to his tales about Arlathan and the Dales. She smiled at the memory of Zevran sitting at her feet, his long lean body gracefully sprawled on the forest floor, more relaxed than she had ever seen him in the company of others. The young women of the Clan had openly shown her interest in the handsome stranger, watching Cat with barely concealed hostility, whenever he touched her or looked at her. She frowned. They probably resented him wasting his precious Elven seed on a _shemlen_ like her.

Although, to give them their due, the Dalish generally weren't given to open displays of affection. Remembering Cammen's embarrassed expression when she'd asked him about kissing Gheyna, she had to suppress a giggle at the thought of Zevran living among the Clan. Imagine him spending his life in a place where only married couples ever got to touch...

No, he didn't belong there. Neither could she imagine him living the sordid life of the City Elves in the Alienage. Like her, he was a misfit, who no longer had a place with his own people. Like her, he needed his freedom. Their home was the open road, away from the rules and traditions of society. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker for allowing the two of them to meet. And she knew with crystalline clarity that she couldn't lose him, that the mere thought of something bad happening to him was more than she could bear.

Zevran had been watching the emotions chasing each other on her expressive face for some time. Now he finished cleaning and carefully stowed away soap and oil in his pack, placing the polished leather at just the right distance to the fireplace. He got up and came over to her, joining her on the bench.

"You're deep in thought tonight, carissima," he remarked as he took hold of her bare foot and let his hand run firmly along her instep, then up her calf.

She looked into his eyes, seeing only tenderness and a hint of concern. Moving over into his lap, she pressed her body close to his.

"Oh Zev, I love you so much," she whispered. He kissed her wordlessly, pulling back to look into her eyes, his fingers softly tracing her lips. He had given up chiding her when she talked of love, realising that she was far too stubborn to be dissuaded. Besides, deep down inside, they both knew that it was true, that she loved him, needed him like the air she breathed, and that he felt the same way about her. Yet he'd never say the words aloud, driven by a superstitious fear that this would break the spell, drive them apart. It had bothered her for a long time, but tonight she found, much to her surprise, that she no longer cared. She didn't need him to put into words what he was telling her incessantly with his looks, his kisses, his whole body.

Huddling closer to him, she rested her head against his chest, content to just sit there, listening to his heartbeat. Together they watched the sun go down, painting the roofs of Denerim a deep dark red.


	18. More Than Just Skin-deep

**Chapter 18: More Than Just Skin-deep**

When they had first set eyes upon the abandoned thaig, they had been awestruck. Even in their ruinous state and despite the decay, the old buildings were still breathtakingly beautiful. It seemed strange, Cat thought, that dwarves insisted on building such lofty, high structures. It wasn't as if they needed the headroom. Still, even in her most cynical moments, she had to admit that no one could work rock the way they did, or steel for that matter. When they had arrived at Orzammar a week ago, their new gear from Denerim had seemed shabby compared to what the dwarven smiths had to offer. Well, with any luck this expedition into the Deep Roads would yield enough coin to upgrade their equipment.

They had made camp in one of the less dilapidated buildings. One room in particular was still intact, and there was even a small side chamber that would afford Cat and Zevran a measure of privacy. As soon as everything had been arranged to her satisfaction, she'd assembled a small scouting party and had set out with Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana, intending to be back within the hour.

When they still hadn't returned after two hours, Zevran found himself worried. Yet an hour later, he finally heard steps outside in the courtyard, but when he rushed out to meet them, his worst fears were confirmed. Alistair was carrying Cat in his arms, her head and upper torso firmly wrapped in an old coat. Her body was motionless, one hand dangling down.

"Quick," said Alistair tersely. "Get Wynne. And get out of here, Zevran, she said she didn't want to see you."

He recoiled in shock. "She said what?"

The knight shrugged and proceeded with her into the small side chamber where Wynne was already waiting, healing spells at the ready.

Zevran tried to follow him in, but as soon as he had put her down, Alistair simply pushed him out of the room and took up sentry at the door. All his protests fell on deaf ears. When Wynne left the room an hour later, looking exhausted, she shook her head at his pleas. "She's better," the old mage muttered, "but she doesn't want you to come in."

Zevran raged in vain until, after hours of pleading and cursing, he finally gave in, pretending to accept the decision. For the next two days he patiently waited for his chance. Alistair and Sten took turns watching the doorway and watching him, but he knew it was just a matter of time before their vigilance waned. In the second night, he finally grabbed his chance when the knight had dozed off, and stealthily disappeared around the corner, quickly scaling the walls from the outside. Within seconds, he was at her side, looking down at her.

She was running a fever, he could see that right away. And despite Wynne's efforts in the past two days, her injuries were still blindingly obvious. A huge red welt ran from her forehead to her neck, crossing one eyebrow. By some miracle her eye had remained intact, but a large part of her right earlobe had been cut off. He gasped at the sight of the wound, realizing how closely she had escaped death.

At the sound, she opened her huge, feverish eyes, and when she saw his face, she got agitated. "Zev! I didn't want you to see me like this. I asked them to keep you away!"

He shook his head mutely, for a moment lost for words. "Shh, cara," he gently shushed her, softly stroking the intact side of her face. "Don't worry. I'm here and everything's fine." He saw another flash of anguish cross her face before she passed out again.

"How did you get in here? I told you she didn't want you here!" Alistair's voice was furious.

Zevran turned slowly to the door to see the knight looming over him, Wynne at his side, a disapproving look on her face. He got up, looking them both in the eye without flinching. "I'm not leaving her side again," he stated.

Alistair bristled at this, obviously willing to force the issue, but Wynne gently touched his arm. "Quiet, Alistair, you'll only wake her," she muttered. "Now that he's seen her, he might as well stay."

It took three more days for the fever to break. He was with her all the time, cooling her face with wet cloths, trying to make her drink a little water whenever she was conscious, snatching quick naps on a bedroll next to her. Then he awoke one night to find her looking at him with clear eyes, a single large tear rolling across her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Zev," she whispered. "I must look so disgusting."

He couldn't believe his ears. "And why would you think that, my sweet?" It was hard to keep his voice gentle. "Do you think I've never seen wounds like this before? You will heal, it's just a matter of time."

She shook her head, still fighting back tears. "I heard Wynne tell Alistair that she'd do what she could but that I'd likely be permanently disfigured." Her voice broke at the last two words.

Zevran snorted, his lips forming a thin line as he thought of a few choice things that would _permanently disfigure_ the old bat. "Really? I think that is, as you Fereldans are fond of saying, complete bullshit." When she gaped at him, he pulled up his tunic, revealing a long pale line across his abdomen. "See this, cara? When this was a fresh wound, it looked a lot worse than yours does now."

He sighed in frustration. "Why am I even telling you this? You have had enough wounds and scars yourself, you should know. Besides..." he let his fingers hover over the wound in the ghost of a caress, "if anything, this should look rather dashing once it's healed."

She swallowed. "But my face... Zev, I know how much you value beauty. And I'm filthy, I smell, I look like hell. How can you possibly want me like this?"

For a moment, he felt nothing but blind rage at her words. Did she really think him that shallow? But then he saw the expression on her face, the anguish, the fear, and he relented. "Is that what you are afraid of, my love?"

When she nodded, trembling, he got up with a resigned sigh and walked out, returning with a bowl of water and some rags. Without saying a word, he began to gently wash her from head to toe. She watched him in wonder, realizing that being clean made her feel a lot better.

When he'd finished, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her softly. His lips were like silk brushing against her skin. His fingers wandered over her arms and chest, carefully avoiding the bruises. To her surprise, she found her battered body responding to his caresses, shivering slightly. As he pulled her closer against his warmth, quickly discarding his clothes so she could feel his skin against hers, she heard his soft voice against her ear. "You really think I don't want you any more? To me you are beautiful no matter how many scars you have". She blushed like an innocent as she felt his hardness against her body, clear evidence of his desire.

He was infinitely careful not to hurt her as he touched her, his lips and hands calling forth reactions she hadn't thought her weakened body capable of. When he finally entered her, his movements were controlled, measured, as if she was as fragile as a porcelain figurine. Yet she nearly cried out, so good it was to feel him inside her, to be with him, safe in his arms. As she reached completion, he pulled her close, his own face mirroring her release, his lips firmly locking with hers. She shuddered, then immediately fell into a deep, relaxed sleep.

When Wynne entered the room in the morning and found them naked, their limbs tangled, huddled under the blanket together, she raised hell.

"How could you?" she hissed at Zevran. "With her still healing, I can't believe you couldn't keep your hands off her!"

He didn't even attempt to answer, just threw her a dark look, but at this moment Cat moved in his arms and looked at the old mage.

Her eyes were clear and her voice sounded surprisingly firm as she spoke. "Leave him be, Wynne. I'm grateful for your skills, but it wasn't just my body that needed healing."

The mage grumbled for a moment, but one look at her patient told her how much better she was. With a snort, Wynne left the room.

They had to wait another full week for Cat to recover sufficiently for them to set out again. As they were grabbing their packs, Zevran pulled her aside for a moment.

"Here. It seems an appropriate moment to give you this." He pulled a beautiful jewelled earring from his purse and slowly, gently attached it to her left ear.

She swallowed. "Zev, does this mean...?"

He raised a warning finger to his lips, clearly not wishing to discuss the meaning of the gesture, and she broke off. But as they continued along the huge marble slabs of the old dwarven road, she found herself touching the earring with a small smile.


	19. You're Mine

**Chapter 19: You're Mine**

It took them almost two weeks to get back to the surface. Two weeks of endless trudging through the darkness, two weeks of fighting off spiders and darkspawn and deepstalkers. When they finally reached Aeducan Thaig and their old campsite, everyone's nerves were frazzled, except Oghren's maybe, but then he was rarely sober enough to tell. Alistair and Leliana had quarrelled violently over a week ago, and were no longer on speaking terms. Cat didn't know what had happened and she didn't care. She was far too worried about Zevran.

Being down here was harder on him than on all the others. He was Elven, after all, and the weight of the rock seemed to press down on him, suffocating him, making him tense and moody. But it was more than that. Ever since he'd given her the earring, he had seemed irritable, fighting some inner demon, struggling with his own feelings.

When she had given the order to destroy the Anvil, he had disagreed and they had argued as they never had before. He'd never questioned her authority before, and it had shaken her to the core to lose his support in this. He hadn't shared her bedroll since then, had hardly talked to her, and she missed him desperately. His warmth, his tenderness, his humour. Whenever she looked at his shuttered, withdrawn face, she ached inside, with a dull hollow feeling.

That night she took first watch, with Fluffy by her side. As she sat there, staring into the darkness, she heard steps behind her and turned around, hoping to see Zevran. But to her surprise it was Alistair who walked towards her. He sat down next to her, gave her one of his crooked smiles and shared her silence for a while. It was good to have him here, she realised. He was a Warden like her, and he understood better than any of the others what she'd been through in the past weeks.

With a deep sigh he turned to her. "What a nightmare!" he muttered, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

She didn't have to ask what he was referring to. She still saw the gruesome vision of the Broodmother before her whenever she closed her eyes, and even now she shuddered at the thought.

"Shhh," he whispered, rocking her gently, and she was glad for his support.

"It sucks to be a Warden," she moaned against his shoulder, and she could hear him chuckle.

"They never told us about _that_ , didn't they?" he remarked wryly. "But then they never told us about so many things."

When she looked up into his eyes, surprised at the changed tone of his voice, his hand moved up to her cheek and her eyes widened as she became aware of what was happening. Hypnotized by his intense gaze, she made no move to stop him as he pulled her against his broad chest and his lips touched hers, tentatively brushing against them for a brief moment. Then she felt his tongue parting her lips, and he kissed her, deeply and with an assurance she hadn't expected. This wasn't the old innocent, clumsy Alistair, she realised with a shock. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he wasn't shy about it either. Before she knew it she was kissing him back, lost in the feel of his hot mouth, his hands caressing her back, his muscular arms around her. Maker, he was strong and warm and his skin was soft and silky... She felt her affection-starved body respond with an urgency that made her shiver.

Zevran was watching from the shadows. He had followed her when she went out. Ever since she had taken that horrible wound, he'd been worried sick about her, not wishing to let her out of his sight. When Alistair had approached, every warning sense in his body had begun to tingle, though, and as he saw the knight pull her into an embrace, saw her body relax against his, he felt a wave of red-hot fury nearly obliterating his sight.

It lasted only a moment, though. An ice-cold determination took hold of him, a deadly concentration, the familiar focus on the kill. Without a conscious thought he moved closer, his daggers in hand. His brain automatically calculated the necessary moves, the feint with the right, Alistair's foreseeable reaction, the quick slice of his throat with the left. As the excitement washed over him, the thrill of the chase he'd missed for so long, he quietly closed in.

When Alistair pulled back for breath, Cat felt his beard stubbles brush softly against her cheeks and that brief contact made her immediately aware of what she was doing. Without a moment's hesitation, she pushed him back, raised her right hand and, before he could guess her intention, slapped him hard in the face.

Ignoring the hurt look in his eyes she hissed at him. "Alistair, no! What in the Maker's name do you think you're doing?"

He blanched, but his eyes retained their pleading look. "Cat, please. I need you. I can't marry Anora, she'll be the death of me. If I am to be king, come with me. Be my queen, they'll accept you."

She looked at him incredulously for a moment, then her face softened and she gently stroked his cheek. "No, Alistair, I can't do that. Not even for you. Ferelden is full of pretty young girls who'll make you happier than I ever could. I'm no queen. I belong to him."

Alistair looked at her, his expression resigned. "Even though he's been treating you like dirt lately?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes," she said quietly.

Zevran had frozen in motion when she had lashed out at Alistair. Listening to their words, he felt a sudden rush of anger at himself. It was true, he had made her miserable, and he had nearly pushed her into another's arms by his behaviour. He cursed his own foolishness as he turned around and went back to the camp. He could hear Alistair's footsteps only moments later. The knight sighed, pulled his bedroll into a quiet corner and settled down for the night.

When Cat came back from her watch and took off her armour, a weary look on her face, he was waiting for her, naked inside the bedroll. Without a word he pulled her into a deep, ardent embrace, kissing her hungrily. He heard her gasp of surprise, turning into a soft happy sigh, as she returned his kiss with the same fervour.

"Zev, I've missed you, I've missed you so much, I thought I'd lost you," she moaned as he showered her face with kisses.

"Cara, I'll never let you go, you're mine," he whispered, his hands already busy pulling off her shift, freeing her breasts to his touch. She arched up high into his hands as he let them wander over her body, desperate for his touch. He needed to feel her, to touch her everywhere, and they both huddled against each other, driven by a longing to be _close_.

When he slid inside her, she pulled up her legs as far as she could, moving her hands to his lower back to push him deeper. He gasped as he felt her legs twist around his, holding him as tight as she could, pulling him further into her heat. It hardly left him room to move, but he didn't care, losing himself in her body enveloping his, so warm, so tight, so utterly perfect.

Finally, he pulled back a little and began to thrust inside her, gently at first, but then he could feel her nails dig deeply into his back as she begged, her voice low and hoarse with desire. "Zev, please, harder, deeper, more!" He lost control then, pounding inside her, taking possession of her again and again and again, and as they both felt their lust reach its peak, they clung to each other so tight that their bodies seemed to melt into each other.

"Zevran, I'm yours. Always yours," she breathed against his ear, when she could speak again.

"And I am yours," he replied, and the intense passion in his voice made her tremble deep inside.


	20. Nighttime Noises

**Chapter 20:** **Nighttime noises**

They were about ten days' journey away from Orzammar. It was a warm spring day, and they had set up camp early, wishing to take advantage of the remaining daylight. Their provisions were sadly depleted and consisted mostly of stale bread and onions. Cat, Alistair and Morrigan had set out in search of more substantial fare for dinner. They were a good team, having hunted together now for several months. Of course the witch's ability to transform into a bird of prey or a wolf at will made her easily the most efficient hunter in their party, but both Cat and Alistair had gone hunting since they were small children and they knew what they were doing. The others stayed behind to set up the tents and make sure the camp would be secure. After the shriek attack a few weeks ago, they had become doubly careful.

When the hunters returned to camp, Alistair was carrying a young buck over his broad shoulders, and three skinned hares were dangling from Cat's hands. She passed them to Leliana, who was busy preparing their evening stew, and was heading for her tent, when Wynne stopped her.

"A word, please, Warden." The mage's voice sounded strained.

Cat was surprised, but followed her over to the edge of the clearing where they wouldn't be overheard. She looked at the older woman with an expectant face.

"Well, Wynne?"

"You're quite taken with each other, aren't you?" Wynne's disapproving smirk and the quick movement of her head towards Zevran made it abundantly clear who she was talking about.

"And what if we are, Wynne?" Cat felt immediately defensive. Her mood quickly turned to anger, though, as Wynne went on and on, pontificating about her responsibilities as a Grey Warden and the dangerous selfishness of love, questioning her about her plans for the future and the seriousness of her intentions.

Cat tried to brush her off with light, flippant answers, but to no avail. Finally, she couldn't bear it any more.

"Really, Wynne, who I sleep with is none of your business! I'm old enough to think for myself, thank you very much," she snarled, not bothering any longer to be polite.

"Obviously not, if you think this... _fling_ of yours is going to endure," Wynne snapped back. With an audible huff of disdain, the mage turned around on her heel and walked off to her tent, disappearing inside.

Cat watched her walk away, for a moment lost for words. Then she grabbed some bread and two bowls of stew, despite Leliana's protestations that it wasn't done yet, and made her way toward her own tent. She found herself repeating the conversation in her head, getting angrier every time. _'Fling' indeed! Really, the woman had some nerve!_

She ducked inside and found herself face to face with Zevran. He was half-undressed, but not even the pleasing sight of his naked torso could banish the angry frown from her face. One look at her told him she was in a seriously bad mood.

"Why so angry, carissima?" His voice was gentle and soothing, his stance cautious, almost wary.

She snorted as she handed him a bowl. "Wynne," she answered grimly, and she saw a flash of understanding cross his face. The old mage had made no secret of her disapproval of him. Naturally, her disdain had provoked him into ever more outrageous remarks. More than once, Cat had had to hide a smile at his breezy impertinence.

They ate in silence, but she was fuming inside, hardly tasting her food. Oh, but she was _furious_. And she really, really, wanted to get back at the mage for her insufferable smugness. Of course some part of her brain acknowledged she was being childish. But there was no reason to let Wynne get away without a little suffering, was there? Cat chewed her lower lip, deliberating her next move. What to do? What would annoy her most?

A wicked little grin started to spread across her face as she recalled Wynne's words, the prim tone of her voice. 'Half of us aren't getting any sleep, the way you two carry on all night.' _Yeah, as if._ They had always been careful to keep the noise down. Anything else would have been far too embarrassing in a crowded camp like this. However, if Wynne really found it so bothersome....

She turned to her lover. "Zev, can you do something for me?"

He smiled at her fondly, stroking her cheek. "Anything, my love, as long as it's in my power to do so."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," she purred, leaning into his touch. "I want you to make love to me ... and I want us to make as much noise as we possibly can."

Zevran had to bite his lip in order not to laugh out loud. Normally she was so anxious to keep quiet that she'd rather clamp her teeth into his shoulder than allow herself to cry out in pleasure. Not that he objected to the biting.... Then again, this should be interesting. "A challenge!" he grinned as he pulled her into a soft, sensual embrace. "Don't worry, dolcissima, I _will_ make you sing, I promise."

Cat sighed happily as she settled in his arms. His lips began to move over her jawbone and down her neck, nipping gently, so soft, so hot.... Quickly he removed her armour, then her shift, and so on until they were both naked. He knelt down in front of her, burying his face in her soft curls, inhaling deeply. Then he took hold of her and slowly pulled her downwards, his lips never leaving her body, leaving a hot trail all over her belly and her breastbone. When she was kneeling before him, he kissed her long and deep. He took his time, exploring her mouth thoroughly, nibbling on her lips, making her shiver. When he broke away, she was breathless and panting.

He pushed her gently back onto the bedroll and reached for his pack. A quick forage in there produced a velvet pouch from which he took a long soft white feather. "Close your eyes, my love, and keep still." She obeyed, and for a long moment, he kept her waiting, admiring her slim, supple body. Their wanderings all over Ferelden had left her lean and trim, her arms and legs well-muscled, her belly flat. Yet her breasts had lost nothing of their pleasing fullness, and her hips were softly rounded. Her skin was pale and had a pearly sheen in the dim light.

When he noticed her growing restlessness, he tore his gaze away and began to caress her breasts with the feather, tantalizingly light touches that made her gasp. Zevran took his time, as he let it travel all over her body, until she was moaning softly. He stretched out next to her and with a grin, caught the lobe of her ear between his teeth.

"No need to be quiet, remember?" he whispered in her ear, and was immediately rewarded by a louder sigh. "Very nice," he said approvingly, abandoning the feather and letting his mouth take over, caressing her breasts with light strokes of his tongue.

When she reached out for him, he took hold of her arms, gently pinning them down at her sides. "Not so impatient, bellissima," he growled, not bothering to keep his voice down. "Or do I have to tie you down?"

Cat's eyes widened, but she shook her head. Her whole body felt feverish and hot, and she was only too happy to let him proceed. The touch of the feather had been incredibly titillating, making her skin come alive with a peculiar sensation not unlike the tingling she felt from Morrigan's lightning spells. And now his lips, his tongue, his hands.... She writhed under him, trying to pull him closer, moaning louder now, her legs spreading invitingly.

Zevran was enjoying himself immensely. "Tell me what you want from me, cara," he commanded, revelling in her blushing face. "Well?"

She visibly struggled. "Your mouth, here," she breathed, pointing at her crotch.

He cocked his head, an impish grin on his face. "What was that, my love? I can't hear you."

She shot him a dark look, at the same time stifling a giggle that immediately turned into a long drawn-out moan when he sucked hard on her nipple. "Damn it, Zev, lick me, please." Her voice was clearly audible now and he chuckled.

"But of course, my sweet, you only have to ask." When he bowed down and let his tongue rasp along her hot wet opening, she cried out, a single high-pitched cry that he answered with a low groan. With one hand he held down her hips while the other reached up to her breasts, gently pinching her hard nipples.

His tongue never left her heat, painting soft circles, flicking against her sensitive nub, teasing her until she was chanting his name. "Zev, Zev, Zev!" The sound of it on her lips made him more aroused than he could afford right now, and he quickly moved up, silencing her briefly with a kiss, before he pulled back.

"What now?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

Her face was flushed with desire as she looked up at him. This time there was no blushing; she spoke freely, her voice clear and high. "I want you, Zev, inside me. Deep inside me."

He laughed triumphantly, and gripped her hips firmly, flipping her around with a swiftness born of long practice, positioning her on all fours. "Like this?" he growled, burying himself in her heat without further warning, both hands on her firm, rounded buttocks.

"Yes!" she cried out, pushing herself back against him, her head thrown back, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

He forced himself to keep still. "Again?" he panted.

"Yes!" Her cry was answered by another deep thrust, then he stopped again, waiting for her.

"Oh Zev, please, yes!" she cried again, and he pounded inside her once more.

They quickly settled into a rhythm, alternating between her cries and his thrusts. Cat felt herself go dizzy at the intensity of it, some small part of her still embarrassed by the racket they were making, with her screaming and the loud slapping of flesh against flesh. Yet she couldn't stop, she wouldn't stop, and as he kept up the insistent pace, the last barriers fell and she found herself no longer caring about the others, forgetting they even existed. There was nothing but the fire inside her, spreading, washing through her, overwhelming her.

With a final hoarse cry, she threw herself back against him, arching up high. His hands reached out for her and he pressed her body hard against him, held her tight as he felt her muscles contract around him over and over. He groaned and she felt him go limp against her back, shivering, trembling, just as spent as she was.

Exhausted and sated, she curled up on the bedroll. Zevran settled behind her with his arms around her, his hand resting lightly on her hip. She had been _very_ vocal indeed. He smiled inwardly, picturing the faces of their companions when they would emerge from their tent the next morning. "Now, my sweet, what exactly did Wynne do to make you so... aggressive?"

Cat frowned deeply. "Really, that interfering old hag!" She hissed angrily at the memory. "Maker, Zev, you should have heard her. She sounded just like my mother. The way she talked about you!'It seems he only ever has one thing on his mind.'"

Her imitation of Wynne's pompous tone was spot on and Zevran grinned from ear to ear.

"Well, she's mostly right, I won't deny that. Still," he pouted provocatively. "I'm hurt. You think your mother would not have liked me? What's not to like about a handsome Elven assassin from Antiva?" His voice was dripping pure sarcasm now.

Cat laughed sardonically. "Yeah, I am sure she would have appreciated your many fine qualities. You're just the son-in-law she was always dreaming about."

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at her, serious now. "Ahhh, cara, don't be so bitter. She was your mother. You don't think it would have counted for something that I am making her daughter happy?"

Cat looked into his eyes, and what he read in hers made him flinch. "Not to my mother, Zev. To her, happiness just didn't come into it. I doubt she believed in its existence at all, outside of romantic novels. All she cared about was duty, family, the neighbours' opinion of us. And an advantageous match for me, of course." She shivered and Zevran put an arm around her shoulder. "'A Cousland doesn't run away from her duty, no matter how unpleasant it may seem'," she quoted in her mother's haughty, icy voice. "She would have done everything in her power to make me marry Alistair. To make me the Queen of Ferelden. A perfect match indeed... who cares whether there is any love involved. After all, we could always _pretend_ to be happily married." Cat shuddered. "What a hypocrite she was!"

Zevran tried to pull her closer, but she pushed him away, her hands gesturing passionately, her gaze intense, willing him to understand. "Maker knows, I tried to talk to her, more than once. I told her that I needed my freedom, that I had to follow my dreams and be true to myself, but to her, that was just so much romantic nonsense." She finally allowed him to embrace her, kissing him back fiercely.

"Zev, I won't be like her! I won't live a lie. You're the one I love and I want to be with you."

Zevran shushed her gently, patting her back. "Shh, my love, you will be with me, if that's what you want. But there'll be a price to pay. It won't be easy."

"There's always a price, Zev. I know that." She looked at him, her expression sad and tired. Then she shook herself like a wet dog, chasing away the sombre mood. "Enough about this!" With a lithe, sinuous movement, she slid down along his body, her hands moving over his stomach, down to his thighs, softly stroking until he felt his cock rise again. "Now, my lover, we will see if we can make _you_ scream as well."

Her hands reached between his legs, playing with the soft, loose skin of his balls, while her tongue ran up his length, soft and insistent. When her lips closed around him and he felt her tongue twirl around his tip, Zevran sighed a deep happy sigh. "I think..." he gasped, "...we can arrange for this, cara."


	21. The Cold Light of Morning

**Chapter 21:** **The Cold Light of Morning**

Cat awoke to find Zevran's warm body stretched out next to her. She sighed happily. _He stayed for the night._ Usually he would sneak back to his tent at some point, or return there after his watch, so this was a rare occurrence, to be savoured and treasured. She snuggled up closer to him, enjoying the feel of his body next to hers. He yawned and stretched and sleepily ruffled her hair.

"Well, my sweet," she heard him chuckle. "Are you ready to face the others this morning?"

The memories of the past night came flooding back and she gasped briefly, then tried to shrug it off. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be ready?"

He knew her too well to be fooled, of course. "Aaaah, my pretty Warden, be honest with me, now. There will be blushes and embarrassed glares today, no?"

She giggled, admitting he was right. But then some of the recklessness she had felt the night before returned. "Well, I might as well go out now. This won't get any easier."

Quickly, they got dressed and left the tent. It was still cold outside but the sun was shining brightly, and she had to close her eyes to avoid being blinded by the sudden light.

Fortunately, the first person she met was Sten. His face was impassive as usual, and his greeting sounded perfectly normal. She took a deep breath and walked over to the campfire. Leliana handed her a cup of tea with a wink and a naughty smile, but she didn't say a word. As for Alistair... Her fellow Warden wouldn't meet her eye, and she noticed his ears were tinged bright pink. Wynne was nowhere in sight.

Fluffy nudged up to her knee, begging for a treat and she fed him some beef jerky, scratching the rough fur behind his ears. It seemed there would be no awkward conversations after all, and she smiled, relief washing over her face.

She had forgotten about Oghren, though. When he emerged from his tent, he belched loudly, then leered at her. _Oh Maker, he is still drunk!_

"Well, Warden? Had a good night, did you?" he slurred, adding a rude gesture that left little doubt as to the meaning he intended.

"Thank you, Oghren, yes I did," she replied, keeping her tone level.

"Ha! I should imagine. Rolling your oats, you were, you and the elf?"

"Pardon?" Cat couldn't quite keep the grin off her face at his fanciful choice of words.

"Ah, you know. Polishing the footstones, bucking the forbidden horse... You might want to keep it down a bit, though." He belched again.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Oghren." Cat had to bite her lip in order not to laugh out loud. Alistair's ears had turned a bright purple by now.

She sauntered off towards Morrigan's tent, wondering whether they had been heard even at that distance. The witch was already packing up and greeted her with a tiny smile and a raised eyebrow.

"It's good to know you're happy, my friend," she remarked dryly. _I guess that answers my question._ Ah, well, Morrigan wasn't judgmental, that much was sure.

They broke camp and fell into step again on the road along Lake Calenhad. Cat led the way, chatting with Oghren and Leliana, Fluffy happily bounding alongside. Sten and Morrigan followed, each lost in their own thoughts, while Wynne kept to herself, and Zevran and Alistair brought up the rear. It was a beautiful morning, and Cat relaxed, enjoying the warm air, even humming a little tune.

Zevran was watching her, enjoying the way the sunlight played on her red hair. He'd seen a new side of her during the past night, more reckless, less wary. And it had been a rare pleasure to let down his own guard. By both training and inclination, he usually kept quiet during sex, never allowing himself to be carried away. Last night, however... He grinned happily, not caring that it made him look like a fool. Suddenly he heard Alistair clear his throat next to him.

"So, Zevran, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" The young knight seemed uncomfortable but determined.

Zevran was cautious. "You may ask, but I may choose not to answer."

Alistair stumbled over his words. "Well, you know, when you are with a woman ... how do you... I mean, is there a... technique?"

Zevran stopped in his tracks, looking at the other man. "Are you quite serious?"

Alistair blushed fiercely. "All right. Bad idea. Never mind."

But this was far too good to let it go. "Well, my friend, this would depend on your... goal, yes? I have some roots from home that you may chew if you need energy. As for volume, perhaps you ought to try arching your-"

"Whoa! Whoa!" Alistair turned an even darker shade of pink. "Awkward! Let's forget I asked, okay?"

Zevran sighed deeply. "You Fereldans are so finicky. How will you ever learn how to pleasure each other unless you talk about it? Ah well, it's your loss, I guess."

The day passed uneventful. They met a travelling dwarven merchant on the road and bartered for a while, restocking their potion supply. When night fell, they made camp and settled down after a plentiful meal of venison stew. Cat drew first watch. One by one the others retired to their tents. Zevran kissed Cat goodnight, then he turned in himself.

Cat leaned back against a tree, Fluffy ever watchful at her side, when she saw a familiar robed silhouette approaching. Wynne's expression was hard to read, her smile strained even as her eyes seemed to ask for forgiveness.

"Cat, I have come to tell you that... you've made your point. I won't get involved in your personal life again." Cat nodded, acknowledging the statement, but Wynne went on. "I realize that I shouldn't have spoken so freely, but please remember that I was only led by sincere concern about your well-being."

For a brief moment, Cat felt a pang of guilt and automatically put on an apologetic smile. But then there was a flash of memory and she could clearly hear the manipulative voice of her mother. _My dear, it's only your own best interest I'm thinking about._ And sure enough, there was an expectant look on Wynne's face, the assumption that now she would apologize and promise to be good.

"I trust there won't be a repeat performance of last night? You know, my dear, I should make it clear that I still don't approve of this relationship," Wynne's voice droned on.

Cat took a deep breath. Her tone was clear and firm as she addressed the mage. "Wynne, I appreciate your concern. But fortunately I don't need your approval."

Wynne's mouth fell open for a brief second, then she pressed her lips firmly together and retreated towards her tent. Cat laughed softly and looked up at the stars. She felt free and happy. It was good to be out on the road again.


	22. Everything's Better with Pirates

**Chapter 22:** **Everything's Better with Pirates**

Cat breathed a deep sigh of relief when they passed the huge stone gates of Denerim and found themselves back in the familiar atmosphere of the market. The cries of the merchants, the pleas of the beggars, the monotonous droning of Sister Theohild all added up to a cacophony of sounds that was oddly comforting. For five long weeks they'd travelled the countryside, dealing with other people's problems, delivering messages and potions, trying to make money so they could afford better equipment. Very soon they'd have to set off to Redcliffe for their meeting with the Arl. Better to be prepared for whatever would await them next.

When Zevran suggested a trip to the Pearl in the evening, Cat was astonished. "I'm not interested in their... services, my sweet," he laughed when he noticed her expression. "But their wine is decent and the company more pleasant than in most taverns. Besides," he grinned. "I've made Oghren curious with my stories, and now he's dying to go."

She shrugged. "Why not? It's not as if we have anything better to do."

When they arrived at the establishment, though, they found themselves in the middle of a drunken brawl. At one of the card tables, three ruffians had just drawn their swords and were attacking a tall, dark-haired woman. Cat immediately jumped into the fray, always ready to help out, but she needn't have bothered. The woman seemed perfectly able to look after herself. Two gleaming, sharp cutlasses made short work of the first attacker. When the others saw Cat and her friends move up behind them, Oghren threateningly swinging his battle axe, they disappeared into the night, cursing vehemently.

Carefully the woman wiped and sheathed her blades, then looked up. "You have my thanks, stranger," she began, but her face brightened, as her gaze fell upon Zevran. "Zev!" she exclaimed. "I haven't seen you in ages. What brings you to Denerim? And who are your companions?"

Cat raised a surprised eyebrow at the assassin. "You two know each other?"

Zevran grinned broadly. "Oh yes, my sweet. May I introduce you to the lovely Isabela, Queen of the Eastern Seas, and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn? I did her a favour once, and we became... friends." He turned to Isabela. "You'll be surprised to hear that I'm travelling with the Grey Warden now, my dear."

Isabela cocked her head, taking in Cat's appearance with an appraising glance. "The Grey Warden, is it? Well, I'm intrigued. Why don't the three of you join me at my table for a chat?"

Once the introductions were finished, and Zevran and Isabela were busy reminiscing and trading stories, Cat took a closer look at the pirate. She was a beautiful woman, there couldn't be any doubt. Her skin was a rich golden brown, her long black hair fell in soft long curls, tied back with a blue kerchief, her full lips glistened and her clear brown eyes were sparkling with mischief. She was trim and muscular, yet curvaceous enough that her breasts were straining against the fabric of her short white tunic and her black corset. Oddly enough, she didn't wear pants, only thigh-high black leather boots. The overall effect was certainly... striking.

But Cat was more concerned with the way she had beaten off the thugs. "Those were some pretty smooth moves. Where did you learn to fight like that?" she inquired excitedly.

Isabela grinned smugly. "It's my own style. I picked up some tricks here and there, mainly when fighting duels, so I call myself a duelist. It's pretty effective, as you can see."

Cat nodded eagerly. "Do you think you could teach me how it's done?"

Isabela paused to consider. "I couldn't teach you in just a few hours, but I can certainly give you a few pointers. But before I do that," the broad grin returned, "I'd like to get to know you better."

She leaned back in her chair, stretching voluptuously. "What do you say to a game of Diamondback?"

Cat grinned. "I'm in. What about you guys?"

Zevran shrugged. "Why not? Though I should warn you. She will most likely try to cheat."

Oghren looked from one to the other and grunted. "She'll not be the only one then. I must be mad to play with three rogues like you."

Isabela pulled out a stack of cards, quickly shuffled them and dealt with smooth, practised moves. For a while, it grew quiet as they were immersed in the game, each of them focussed on the hands they'd been dealt, their faces intense and concentrated. The game soon grew more heated as the ante was raised again and again. Oghren folded with a curse, while the other three kept eyeing each other, waiting for a mistake, a subtle sign that would give away the game. Suddenly Zevran's hand shot over the table and caught Isabela's wrist in the middle of a nearly imperceptible sleight of hand. An ace tumbled down onto the table from her ample cleavage.

"Oooops!" Isabela was unabashed.

"I think that means you lose, my dear, don't you think?" Zevran's voice was cool, but Cat couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"Oh come on, Zev. Isabela, I bow before you. Your hands are far too nimble for me."

The pirate threw her a sultry glance. "You know what, Warden, I like you! How about you and Zevran follow me back to the _Siren_ and I'll show you some fighting tricks. And maybe I could show you around below decks..."

Oghren's eyes grew wide, as his imagination immediately began to provide detailed pictures. "What? And I am not invited?"

Isabela smiled at him sweetly. "I'm sorry, my dear Ser Dwarf. I don't think my... fighting style would suit you."

* * *

With a graceful leap, Isabela jumped on board, extending a hand to help Zevran and Cat over the rail. "This is my ship - the _Siren's Call_ ," she said proudly. "We'll have her pretty much to ourselves tonight."

For the next two hours or so, she was all business, as she showed them some complicated moves, demonstrated her stance and the grip on the weapons, and explained several tricks and feints that made Cat laugh with delight. Then they tried out their new skills in a few practice rounds.

Cat and Zevran were circling each other like predators, each looking for a weakness in the other's defence. When he finally struck out at her in a smooth, lightning-quick motion, his blade sliced across her left shoulder, cutting the fabric of her tunic, exposing the soft white skin below. For a split second his eyes travelled down to the soft swell of her half-exposed breast, and she immediately took advantage of this, her body moving with almost inhuman speed and grace as she pinned him against the mast, her blade firmly pressed against his throat.

Zevran cursed violently, but Isabela's tinkling laugh silenced him. "Aaaah, this is precisely why I dress the way I do. You'd be surprised how many seasoned fighters let themselves get distracted by a little flash of skin. Now, why don't we go down to my cabin for a glass of wine and whatever else you fancy?"

Cat hesitated, looking questioningly at Zevran.

He shrugged. "My dear, this is entirely up to you. I'll be happy with any outcome."

She looked Isabela in the eyes. "I'm not sure how far I want to take this, to be honest."

The pirate laughed. "Well, you don't have to be sure yet. Come on. I've got a decent Nevarran red."

Isabela's cabin was tiny but comfortable. Most of the space was taken up by a huge bedstead, covered in furs and silk covers, but there was a small table and two chairs and they settled there, Cat curling up comfortably on Zevran's lap. The wine was fiery and strong, and they chatted happily for a while. Finally Isabela reached out and gently ran a finger along Cat's jaw before she moved to her hair, quickly undoing the clasp and running her hands through the dark red strands. "You're beautiful," she muttered. "No wonder our Zev is so taken with you."

Cat closed her eyes, shivering as the pirate's hand trailed down her neck to the tear in her tunic, stroking the exposed skin, before she leaned over and let her lips softly brush over the young woman's. Cat sighed and breathed in the pirate's warm, musky scent, enjoying the softness of her lips, tasting of wine and salty sea-air. Isabela deepened the kiss, their tongues now dancing against each other. Zevran's hand moved up slowly, finding his lover's breast, caressing her nipples through the fabric. When Isabela paused for breath, she caught Zevran's gaze and pulled him to her, kissing him now, her lips hungry and greedy.

He sighed with pleasure, but then he felt Cat stiffen in his arms and immediately withdrew. "What is it, love?"

Cat blushed, but her voice sounded firm. "I'm sorry, Isabela. I don't think I can... share him. Maybe we should leave."

Isabela chuckled. "If you insist. But if this is all you're worried about, I have another suggestion. Why don't you two stay, and I promise I won't touch him again? He's not really the one I'm interested in tonight anyway. No offense, Zevran."

The assassin grinned. "None taken." He turned to Cat. "What do you say, my sweet? It's your decision."

Cat closed her eyes, trying to clear her head. Did she want Isabela to go on? The kiss had been sweet, still seemed to linger on her lips. And she was intrigued by the excitement she had felt, curious about the next step. When she looked into his eyes and saw only love and tenderness, she made up her mind and turned to the pirate. "All right. As long as he is off limits. But I don't know..."

Isabela took her hand and led them over to the bed. "Leave that up to me, sweet thing."

Zevran lay down on the soft, downy furs and pulled Cat into his arms. The pirate took a step back and started unlacing her corset, all the while watching the two of them with an intense gaze. "Undress her for me, Zev." Her voice was husky.

Zevran carefully unlaced Cat's tunic, pulling it up over her head in a swift motion, while Isabela pulled off her boots and her leather gloves. Cat's pants quickly followed, then she leaned back on the bed, watching as Isabela threw off her tunic. Zevran paused a moment, letting his eyes wander from one to the other before he quickly slipped out of his own clothes. As the pirate slid onto the bed, straddling Cats outstretched body, and bent down for a long lingering kiss, he couldn't quite suppress a groan. True, he would have preferred a more active role, but just watching the two of them, Isabela's darker skin against Cat's pale pearly sheen, their long legs entwined, their bodies brushing against each other, black hair mingling with red, he felt his own excitement grow rapidly.

He sat up with his back against the cabin wall and pulled Cat closer, cradling her in his arms, while Isabela's lips travelled down her neck to her collarbone, then deeper to her breasts. When her mouth closed around Cat's left nipple, he heard his lover give a long soft moan, and he softly cupped her right breast, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin that quickly grew harder under his touch.

Isabela was true to her promise and never once touched him as her hands wandered over Cat's flat stomach, trailing downwards, but she looked up at him and let her gaze wander lovingly over his arms and chest. She had nearly forgotten how handsome he was, his golden skin, its smooth shine accentuated by the dark swirls of his tattoos, his long blonde hair, the amber eyes, now half-closed, his graceful air of barely contained tension and danger. And propped up against him there was Cat, her pale body perfectly proportioned, her nipples a soft coral red, and that dark thatch of red curls between her legs, so enticing, so inviting... Isabela shivered with anticipation as she took them both in, while her hands were busy exploring, touching, gently stroking.

Cat hardly dared to breathe, her senses tingling with the unfamiliar touch of Isabela's soft, practiced hands and lips on her body. Zevran was there, at her back, firm and reassuring, and she could feel his arousal, could smell his scent, hear his soft breathing. When the pirate's hands and lips reached the junction of her legs, she pulled the other woman up into a brief kiss, then began exploring her generous curves, with trembling hands at first, but soon getting bolder. Isabela leaned into her touch, softly purring with delight, visibly enjoying every second.

Zev's breathing grew more ragged as his hands moved down between her legs, burying themselves in her curls, touching, caressing, teasing her most sensitive spots. When he withdrew his hands, she moaned and pulled Isabela closer. Soon their bodies were writhing against each other in a slow, sensual movement, skin on skin, hot lips on shivering flesh, searching hands finding wet throbbing heat.

Behind her she felt Zevran shift, realized he was almost painfully hard now, and she ground her hips back against him, eliciting a deep, breathless moan from his lips. Isabela laughed softly and drew back. "Your turn, Zevran," she breathed. Cat turned in their arms, facing the assassin now, and slowly, inch by inch, lowered herself onto his throbbing, hard length. Isabela was close behind her, hands cupping her breasts, stroking them gently, lips nipping at the sensitive skin on her neck.

Cat gasped with pleasure at the double touch. Zevran deep inside her, his hands on her hips firmly guiding her movements, the pirate's soft breasts brushing against her back. It felt incredibly good. Soon she became impatient, her pace quickening, and she felt Zevran's body go rigid under her. She realized he was close; he was straining to hold off a little longer, his face tense with the effort. And then Isabela's hands wandered down and touched her unerringly, sending her over the edge with Zevran following close behind. Cat cried out, her head thrown back, her eyes closing as the rush of tingling heat spread from her crotch all over her body to her toes and fingertips. Her mind went pleasantly blank, while her body was shivering violently with the aftershocks.

When the pulsing subsided, she bent down to place a soft kiss on Zevran's lips. Then she slowly pulled away from him and turned around, embracing Isabela, kissing her too, then pushing her back into the sheets. She could see the pirate's eyes grow darker with lust as she spread her legs and let her tongue travel across the hot folds, sampling the unfamiliar taste and feel, experimenting, following her own instincts as to what would please the other most. Isabela grabbed a fistful of Cat's hair, wrapping it around her fingers, pulling her closer. She moaned in pleasure, shivering, tensing, then she hissed sharply, her hips bucking up, her whole body taut for a few precious seconds, before she sank back with a relaxed sigh.

Zevran who had watched, unable to keep his eyes off the two of them, pulled Cat back into his embrace and held her, his face buried in her hair, his lips nuzzling her neck. Isabela rested her head in Cat's lap, her long hair spread over the young woman's legs, her eyes closed, a blissful expression on her face. They remained like this for a little while, happy, sated, peaceful, until Isabela raised her head. "More?" she breathed as her lips began a slow journey along Cat's thigh, a wicked smile forming on her face when she heard the tiny answering gasp.

* * *

When they took their leave much later that night, the pirate pulled Cat into a quick embrace and gently pushed an errant strand of hair away from her forehead. "Thank you, sweet thing," she whispered against her ear. "You needn't have worried, you know. He's yours, body and soul. Anyone with eyes can see that."

Cat smiled and hugged her back, then she turned and left, reaching out for Zevran's hand, her fingers squeezing his tight in a mute caress.


	23. More Than Enough

**Chapter 23: More Than Enough**

The sun was about to go down when Zevran came back to the small, neat inn where they had rented rooms during their stay in Denerim. He had met with an old Crow contact of his, a supplier of rare and deadly poisons and potentially even more lethal information. The man didn't particularly care about the fact that he was no longer a Crow, as long as he had the coin to pay for his exclusive services.

When he entered the room Cat looked up, a look of guilty surprise on her face, and she instinctively tried to hide the book she had been reading. Zevran took in the scene and couldn't help but smile. She was lying on her stomach in the middle of the comfortable bed, her graceful body clad only in a thin linen shirt, leaving her long legs bare. Her hair was tousled and a charming blush was colouring her cheeks. Slipping out of his armour, he threw her back a glance over his shoulder.

"What's this you are reading, _dolcezza_?" He took care to keep his voice light, even though he was intrigued.

Her colour deepened, confirming his suspicions. "A farewell present from Isabela."

The pirate had slipped the small parcel into her hand with a knowing smile when they had left her cabin three nights ago, but Cat had forgotten about it until tonight, when, bored alone in the inn room, she had rummaged through her pack.

 _Isabela, eh?_  Zevran hid his grin and stripped off his remaining clothes. He pretended not to notice Cat's brief swallow when he joined her on the bed completely naked. Languidly, he reached out for the book.  _The Art of Making Love_. A brief flipping through the pages showed him an impressive amount of illustrations of various sexual positions. The etchings were done by a master of the craft and were both aesthetically pleasing and very detailed.

"And, my sweet? Did you find it... instructive?" He didn't quite manage to keep the teasing tone out of his voice, and she threw him a dark look.

"Let me see..." He went through the pages until he found a particularly complicated position that had the woman almost standing on her head with the man straddling her body. He put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her close. "Ouch! Well, I wouldn't recommend this one, _carissima_. It looks rather painful to me."

That drew a grin from her, and for a while they went through the book together. They pointed out the more outrageous examples to each other and giggled like schoolchildren until she relaxed. The sight of a man with a smug face pleasuring two girls with his hands and another two with his toes sent them both into fits of laughter, but then Zevran grew more serious.

"Ah, _cara_ , this is most amusing. But will you tell me what you were looking at when I came in?" He remembered the expression on her face, arousal, excitement, a hint of guilt, and he was dying to know what had caused it.

"It was nothing, Zev, really." The blush had returned, and he reached out to stroke her cheek.

"Show me." His voice held nothing but pure tenderness, and she swallowed hard. Without looking at him, she found a page and pushed the book over to him. The illustration depicted a pretty young girl caught between two muscular young men. One of them held her in his arms and caressed her writhing body while the other was preparing to enter her, spreading her legs wide and arranging them around his slim hips.

Zevran heard the tiny hitch in Cat's breathing and pulled her closer. "And is this something you would like to do, _dolcezza_?" he whispered in her ear. "Because we could arrange it, you know-"

But to his surprise she interrupted him, almost hissing at him. "No! No, I don't want that! I want you, Zev. No other man!"

He looked so taken aback by her sudden outburst that she immediately relented.

"I'm sorry, Zev." She turned her head away and blushed even deeper than before. "I'm sorry I'm such a stupid, innocent-"

"No, don't, _cara_!" It was his turn to sound angry. "Don't apologize for being innocent! It is not something to be ashamed of."

"But Zev..." She was visibly agitated now. He pulled her into his arms, lay back with her and gently stroked her hair.

"It is I who must apologize, my sweet Catalina. I shouldn't have rushed you." For a moment he struggled with the words. "This... Finding out what you desire, what you're comfortable with, it should be up to you."

"But you're used to more adventurous partners, Zev," she protested. "You know all there is to know about sex, and I don't want to bore you-"

"No!" He cut her off again. "Don't you see, _cara_? Yes, I know all there is to know, because they made me. The Crows, they taught us very thoroughly indeed and yes, some of it was exciting, but they took away all the mystery, all the curiosity, all our illusions." He realized he sounded bitter and angry and made an effort to calm down his voice. "Please don't let me do that to you. Take your time, follow your own desires. There's no rush." He raised an eyebrow, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm sure there will come a time when you are bored by me."

She laughed out loud at his words. "Bored by you? Never, Zev." But her body relaxed against his and he knew he had reassured her. 

"Zev." Her voice was hesitant when she spoke up again and he kissed her softly before replying.

"What is it, _cara_?"

"It's just... Zev, I told you the truth. I really don't want another man here with us. But that picture, it..."

He smiled. Now he was on firmer ground again. "It did excite you, yes?"

She nodded and tried to hide her face again, but he grabbed her chin and made her look at him. "It's fine, no reason to be embarrassed. Maybe this is something you don't need to do yet, or ever, but that doesn't mean you can't fantasize about it."

Her eyes were wary, yet curious. "What do you mean?"

He nodded and let her slide back on the bed. "Close your eyes, _bellissima_."

After some hesitation, she obeyed and he went on, his voice soft and low. "Now let your imagination wander. Think of anyone you want. Me, Alistair, some faceless stranger..."

"But Zev!" Her voice sounded genuinely worried, and he stroked her thigh soothingly.

"Shhh, _cara_ , don't worry. It's only a dream. You're not betraying me, just enjoying a pleasant fantasy. Just let yourself go, imagine them doing to you whatever you want. Forget I'm here, just dream..."

Zevran watched, entranced, as her breathing quickened and her body began to undulate slowly on the soft cushions, her eyes flickering behind her closed lids. He tried to imagine what she was seeing there, in her mind's eye, who was touching her and how, and his own excitement grew steadily.

It was all too easy for him to picture a scene. _Cat on her knees in front of him, pleasuring him, the way he liked it best, while a dark muscular young man took her from behind. Her body rocking between them, her lips sucking, nibbling, playing with him, just as he had taught her..._

The images in his mind became more and more explicit. Oh, he knew exactly how he could make her feel with the help of a talented partner! _Cat lying spread out on the sheets, while both of them were moving above her, two pairs of hands caressing her until she was completely undone. The shivers running through her body from their combined attentions, the look of utter abandonment on her face..._

When she began to moan, he took her hand and guided it down between her legs. She hesitated for a moment, but then her fingers slipped between her folds and found the place where she wanted them most. Soon she was writhing shamelessly, grinding her hot body against his until he could take it no longer.

" _Cara_..." His voice was hoarse, almost gravelly.

She nodded and reached out for him, but still didn't open her eyes as her legs wrapped around him and she guided him inside her. "Now, Zev, now! Oh yes!"

He sank into her heat with a groan of relief. He hadn't expected this to be quite so exciting, but the sight and scent of her arousal combined with his own overheated imagination had driven him nearly wild with desire. Now he wanted her back, wanted her to return from her dream with a jealous urgency that surprised him more than anything.

"Catalina!" She must have heard it in his voice, for her eyes flew open, and she was there, with him, her expression so full of love that he faltered for a moment, wishing there was a way to stop time and hold on to that look forever.

They found their rhythm without further hesitation. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, and they carried each other further and further up until they both keened with pleasure, clinging tight to each other, shattering, breaking, lost to everything but their shared pleasure.

"Zev?" Her voice seemed to come from far away as he drifted back to consciousness. "That was spectacular!"

He laughed softly. "See, my sweet? It's an exciting fantasy, if nothing else. And maybe one day..."

She shook her head. "No, Zev. I... I'm very sure I don't need anyone else. Not Isabela. Certainly not Alistair. No other man or woman. You're enough for me. More than enough."

He began to speak, but she put a finger on his lips. A sparkle of mischief shone in her eyes. "However... that doesn't mean I wouldn't be willing to take another look at that book." She smiled up at him. "I bet there are a few more interesting ideas in there."

 

 


	24. Pleasures Past and Present

**Chapter 24: Pleasures Past and Present**

The Crows had taken them by surprise, when they were on their way back to the inn that night, their minds taken up with the preparations for the impending Landsmeet. As they were crossing one of Denerim's numerous dark alleys, they found themselves suddenly surrounded by archers. Quickly they took up their fighting positions, the mages safely at the back, the warriors preparing to take a swing against the frontline of the attackers, Fluffy straining against his collar, raring to take down their opponents and shred them to pieces.

Then a tall, dark man strode to the front, his hand raised in what was both a greeting and a warning.

"Taliesin!" Cat heard Zevran hiss beside her. The two men looked at each other with a wary distrust. She watched Zevran's body grow tense, as the other assassin glibly suggested a cover-up story for his prolonged absence and promised him a return to his position with the Crows - provided they kill her first, of course.

Zevran looked at her for a moment. There was no trace of doubt in her expression, only a firm assurance that he belonged with her. He smiled at his former partner.

"I can't, old friend," he answered softly. "I swore an oath, but even if I hadn't, other things bind me to her as well." He turned to look at Cat, ignoring Taliesin's derisive snort, his muttered insults. "I'm sorry, my love. I can't... I won't fight him. We were friends once, and more."

As he disappeared into the darkness, both sides took up arms, knowing that there was only one way this could end. It was a grim, dogged battle, but ultimately their swords and Morrigan's spells won over the assassin's skill and speed. He didn't flinch when Alistair's blade came rushing towards him, neatly taking off his head in a single blow.

When she returned to their inn later that night, Zevran was lying stretched out on the bed in their room, a faraway look on his face. She sighed and began to peel off her armour, not wishing to meet his eyes.

"He's dead. I'm sorry, Zevran, but there was no way we could spare his life." When she looked up, the expression on his face made her glad that she hadn't been the one to strike the killing blow. She threw off her remaining clothes and joined him in bed, nestling up close to him under the blanket, trying to read his face.

"He was your lover too?" she asked softly.

Zevran sighed wistfully. "Lover, brother, friend, partner... we used to be inseparable. But he was a Crow through and through. He would never have understood my decision to leave. When they made us kill Rinna, he didn't hesitate for a moment, just laughed at her and slit her throat." She heard the tiny catch in his voice and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

He turned to look at her and shook off the memories as if he was chasing away a fly. "Don't fret, cara, it's over, and he's gone. Dwelling on the past never did anyone any good." Cat let her hands run through his long blond hair, carefully untangling a few strands that had got messed up. She marvelled at his ability to live in the now, his refusal to let past pain intrude on their life together.

He turned over to look her in the eyes, his finger lightly tracing the thin white scar that ran across her eyebrow, giving her a rakish look. "Does it bother you then, that I have had male lovers?"

She shook her head. "Not really, no. I've always known anyway. Meeting Taliesin just brought it home for me, made it real and concrete in a way it wasn't before."

Zevran nodded slowly. "And how does that make you feel?" he asked.

She smiled a little crookedly, as she considered his question. "If anything the thought of the two of you together is... exciting. He is... he was very handsome, you know."

He closed his eyes for a moment at the memory of hot nights in Antiva, of Taliesin's strong, muscular body, the passion he had felt in the other man's embrace, when they returned from their assignments, flushed from the excitement of the kill. "That he was, and he had other talents as well. Still, it's good to know that you don't mind."

She snuggled up closer to him. "I just wonder..." she mused.

"What is it?" he replied, amused by her curiosity.

"Which do you really prefer, men or women?" she asked.

Zevran sighed. "I couldn't answer that, truly. It really depends on the person, be they man or woman. The beauty of it, to me, is that there's never been any need to decide. Both experiences can be hugely pleasurable, if done well, so why would one limit oneself to just one?"

Cat chewed her lower lip. "Well, but let's just assume for a moment that you had to choose," she persisted.

Zevran pulled her close into his arms. "Ahhh, if a cruel fate would force me to do so, I think I would have to choose... women." _Not that it matters any more, since I've already chosen you._

He didn't voice the thought aloud, though, but proceeded to breathe soft little kisses down her neck and she gasped at the little shocks of pleasure she felt. "You see, there is just something about the soft curves of a woman..." He buried his face between her breasts for a moment, before looking up at her with a wicked smile. Watching her face, he gently pushed her breasts together, then he slowly, teasingly licked a soft path over both her nipples.

As she felt his tongue swirl around the hard tips, his lips nuzzle her white skin, she fought for breath. "So, it's all about the breasts, is it?" she managed to ask.

Zevran grinned like a cat. "No, not at all, carissima." She felt his expert fingers slowly stroke her belly. "You see, women, in my experience, have a superior capacity for enjoying sensual pleasures."

"They do?" she breathed, as his hands softly spread her thighs, his fingers dancing over her warm, moist folds, teasingly entering her for a second, then withdrawing.

"Oh yes, they do. Most of them don't realize it, though." His thumb unerringly found her most sensitive spot. With just a few well-placed touches he had her violently bucking against his hand. She moaned, disappointed that it was over so fast. But to her surprise, his hand never stopped moving.

"Let me show you," he whispered and softly, carefully kept on caressing her with the lightest of touches, until she felt her body respond again, with increased urgency. This time, the sharp, sudden climax nearly took her breath away, but still he wouldn't desist.

When she gave a small moan of pain at the intensity of the sensation, he pulled away his hand and slowly slid down between her legs, placing a long, lingering kiss on her hot wet core. The soft, insistent strokes of his tongue quickly made her whimper, almost sob in ecstasy as he brought her to another peak. She shuddered in his arms, overwhelmed by what he made her feel, completely taken by surprise by the reaction of her own body.

She would have been perfectly satisfied to cuddle up with him at this point, to relax against his warm, lean body. Yet he went on mercilessly, teasing, tasting, torturing her with his skilled mouth. With each release he made her climb new heights, until her whole body tingled with pleasure, every nerve ending stimulated to the point of pain.

Only then did he thrust inside her, his hardness filling her, adding a new sensation, a rippling hot surge of pleasure that spread outward from her crotch to her toes and fingertips, consuming all thought along the way. When she finally arched up against him with a hoarse cry, the world went blindingly white, then black for a second and she was glad of his firm hold that anchored her to reality.

As she returned to consciousness, she looked up into his smiling face. "See, my love?" he breathed softly. "You really had no idea, no?"


	25. A Dish Served Cold

**Chapter 25: A Dish Served Cold**

Zevran looked at Cat's pale drawn face. They were getting close now. If the servants hadn't lied - and why should they? - Arl Rendon Howe should be in one of the rooms at the end of the hallway.  
Howe. The man who'd murdered her family, taken away everything from her, turned her into a homeless, friendless outlaw, so that she had had no choice but to become a Grey Warden. Ultimately the reason why he and Cat had met at all. Zevran winced at the irony. That had to be about the only positive thing that had ever come of that monster's misdeeds.

When Anora's maid had asked them to break into Howe's estate in order to free her mistress, they had initially suspected a trap. But there was simply no way Cat could let that chance go, even if it was a slim one. The chance for revenge, finally. After all those long months, the chance to face Howe, to lay the past to rest. Of course she would go.

At first, it had almost been fun. Dressing up in the Howe uniforms, sneaking in through the side entrance - that had been thrilling, and he had even seen a brief smile play around her lips while she was serving drugged ale to the unsuspecting guards, playing the part of the serving wench with undeniable panache and conviction. The fighting had not been a problem either. With a little help from Morrigan's spells and Oghren's axe, the two of them had made short work of the remaining guards.

But the dungeons... even Zevran shuddered at the memory. He had seen plenty of torture during his time with the Crows. The assassins included it as part of their training, and he still awoke at night sometimes, bathed in sweat, his muscles tense to the point of soreness, the memory of the agony burning on his skin, when he had relived a particularly bad episode in his dreams. He'd even taken part in torturing others occasionally, though it gave him no pleasure. But he had come to regard it as a necessity, one to be avoided if possible, to be sure, but a necessity nevertheless if important information needed to be gained.

What they'd seen down there, though, was a different story. One after the other, they had freed the prisoners from their cells.

Riordan, a Grey Warden. Locked up down here when there was a Blight going on.

Rexel, the veteran - they'd been keeping an eye out for him for months, only to find him so broken that killing him had been the only merciful course of action.

Oswyn, the young nobleman. Zevran had seen Cat's face when they found him after following his cries of pain to the torture chamber, realized she must have known the boy in her former life. He had been a young warrior in the prime of his life before they got to him. Now, he would never fight again.

And Irminric, the Templar, who'd gone half mad without his daily dose of lyrium.

Every one of them had been down there so long they'd given up all hope of ever seeing the light of day again. And every one of them had reported the same. Howe hadn't just taken them prisoner for political reasons. No, the man had actually been _enjoying_ himself by making them suffer.

But the worst part for Zevran had been Soris' account of his capture. When they had found the young elf, he hadn't looked too bad, considering the amount of time he'd spent there. The story he told, however... Zevran had felt numb inside when Soris described how the sadistic Bann Vaughan had kidnapped and raped his bride and her friends. On their wedding day, no less. Oh, he knew well enough how those young human lords treated Elven women. While he'd been relatively privileged during his time with the Crows, his upbringing in the whorehouse had left him in little doubt as to the value most humans placed on Elven lives. A sudden flash of pain had crossed his features when he remembered...

* * *

_Leana had been the youngest of the whores, only just turned sixteen, and when she'd come across the little six-year-old boy playing in the courtyard, she'd been only too happy to join him in his games. Zevran had adored her. She'd been funny and kind and pretty, and she'd always had something for him: a sweet treat begged from the cook, a toy bought from a wandering merchant, or just a kiss and a hug when he was crying, lonely and lost at night. He used to hide outside her door when she was with a customer, sneaking in afterwards to cuddle with her, make her smile again... Until the day when the young lord and his friends had requested her as their toy for his stag party. Her screams could be heard all through the house. When the door opened again, the noble brat had casually tossed them a purse of gold. "I'm afraid we've broken her," he'd snarled, "but this should be more than enough to pay for the damage." Zev had watched from his hiding place, as they carried her body out. He hadn't cried. He'd never cried any more after that night._

* * *

Soris had run off to the Alienage, and Zevran had taken Cat's hand for a second, squeezing it briefly in thanks. She'd looked at him then, noting his expression, but she hadn't said a word. When they had found Vaughan though, he'd seen her features harden. Morrigan had actually suggested letting him live in exchange for his support at the Landsmeet, but she had remembered. She'd just shaken her head, reaching for the daggers on her belt, when he'd intercepted her move.

"No, cara, leave this to me." It had been quick, his dagger pushed in under the man's ribcage in one quick stroke, far too good a death for this bastard. But it had felt good. She had seen him smile and her eyes had met his without flinching.

And now, Howe. He threw her a quick glance. "I'm ready, Zev," she whispered. "As ready as I can ever be." And they entered the room together.

Cat could hardly breathe when she heard _that_ voice.

"Well, well. Bryce Cousland's little spitfire. All grown up and still playing the man." He looked the same as he always had, back then, when he was sitting at the table with her father, drinking their wine, laughing jovially, complimenting her mother on her evening dress. _Her mother_. Her mother who had died horribly at the hands of his men. For a moment, she couldn't see clearly, blinded by rage and pain. She could feel the hate burning inside her stomach, eating at her, making her want to scream, to claw at him with her teeth and nails, to tear him apart.

Then she felt Zevran's hand on her arm, just for a split second, but it took her back to the present. This was her opportunity for revenge, but it was also so much more. It wasn't just about her and her family. She hardly heard his taunts, found them easy to ignore. Instead she focussed on what she'd seen in the dungeons, the pain, the suffering, all those lives broken forever by his actions.

"You are a pathetic excuse for a human being, Howe," she heard herself say. "I'm done talking."

He was a worthy opponent, at least. No begging for his life, no trying to run away. When he finally lay at her feet, defeated, she realized with a shiver that there was no regret in his face, no guilt, no shame. With a swift move, she cut his throat. Zevran, who was looking at her face intently, saw the savage joy crossing her features as Howe died with a gurgle, a last curse dying on his bloody lips. She closed her eyes for a moment, her fists clenched, her body taut with tension. When she opened them again, she seemed to have grown before his eyes, her expression harder and more focussed than he'd ever seen her.

"Let's get out of here," he heard her say. "This place is making me sick."

It wasn't that easy, of course. But when Cauthrien and her men attacked them on the way out, Cat fought with a clear hard determination that made her almost unstoppable. Still, if it hadn't been for Morrigan who took out both the mage and half of the archers with her spells, they might well have ended up captured or dead.

* * *

When they returned to Arl Eamon's estate, Cat took Anora to the Arl's study, then excused herself and went back to her room, locking the door behind her. With a deep sigh, she let her head fall back against the rough wooden boards. She felt bone-tired, empty inside, yet above all relieved.

"So, cara, is it true what the Chantry says? Would it have been better to forgive him?" She jumped at the sound of Zevran's voice.

"Zev, please, I need to be alone." He got up from her bed where he'd been waiting for her, and walked over to her, taking her by the shoulders, his grip firm.

"No, you don't, my love." His eyes caught her gaze, refusing to let her look away. "You need me."

She shook her head, but she knew he was right, and she let him pull her closer, holding her, his lips brushing gently over her temples. He waited, his hand moving in slow circles on her back, until she relaxed against him, exhaling from the depth of her lungs.

"Maybe someone else could have forgiven him," she sighed. "Maybe killing him makes me little better than him. But Maker, it felt good to kill that bastard."

Zevran laughed softly, feeling closer to her than ever. With nimble fingers, he began unbuckling her armour, his fingers caressing her bare skin.

"I'm sure the world is a better place without him," he agreed as he planted kisses along her neck, making her shiver with anticipation. "Some people just need assassinating."


	26. Nobody Does it Better

**Chapter 26:** **Nobody Does it Better**

Zevran was watching Cat across the crowded room, as she was chatting with the young nobleman that had greeted her enthusiastically a few minutes before. His hands balled into fists and he felt his stomach twist almost painfully, when he saw her throw back her head, baring the perfect long curve of her white neck, her eyes flashing green, as she smiled radiantly up at the tall man. She was beautiful tonight, in a sea-green silk dress with a plunging neckline and a full skirt, her red hair carefully brushed and tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck.  
The young bann bowed forward and whispered something in her ear, a teasing expression on his face, and he saw her blush briefly. Then she got up on tiptoes and whispered something back, eliciting a loud roar of laughter. Zev felt his hand moving involuntarily towards the dagger hidden in his left boot and he grit his teeth. This had been going on long enough, he dimly thought as he made his way over to the pair.

Cat had been immensely relieved when she spotted Ciaran among the nobles. Bann Ciaran now - his father had been sickly when they last met, and apparently he had died in the meantime. But Maker, was it good to see him. She was bored nearly out of her mind. Arl Eamon had insisted on inviting as many nobles as possible to his estate in preparation for the landsmeet. And he'd made it abundantly clear that he expected her to talk to every single one of them, to try and bring them over to their side.

So far, this task had proven to be utterly tedious, with just a few exceptions. She'd nearly cried when the aged Bann Sighard had thanked her in a brittle shaking voice for rescuing his son Oswyn from Howe's dungeons. And she had had a good chat with Bann Alfstanna, who had been confident that her brother Irminric would recover. But the rest... At least three of the banns had tried to push their sons upon her for marriage, even though one of them was barely fifteen, another one was already married and the third was inbred to the point of imbecility.

And then Ciaran had noticed her and greeted her with his familiar infectious laugh and a huge bear-hug. "Cat Cousland! You're alive! Thank the Maker! Let me look at you!" She knew she was smiling like an idiot at him as he took both her hands, but she couldn't stop herself. She hadn't seen him for nearly five years, but he had been Fergus' best friend, back before her brother got married. More often than not she'd tagged along when the two of them went looking for trouble. He'd always been kind to her.

She looked up at his huge frame. Maker, but he had grown into a fine man! Dark brown curls, bright blue eyes, strong arms and a wide chest. She bit her lip when she realized she'd been gaping at his powerful body, but he just grinned.

"Well, have you finished looking me over?" He bowed down to her ear, his voice low now, deep and rumbling. "You don't look half-bad yourself, you know? Remember that kiss behind the barn on your fifteenth birthday?"

She felt her face grow hot. Of course she remembered. That had been her first kiss, and it hadn't been a disappointment either. A little clumsy, true, and of course Fergus had arrived at the worst possible moment, but still... A mischievous smile appeared on her face as she whispered back. "How could I forget? I trust you've waited for me for all these years, my lord." He laughed out loud then, but she could see a funny expression in his eyes and she realized he hadn't let go of her hands.

Right then Zevran appeared at her side, though, and she tore herself away in order to make the appropriate introductions. Ciaran seemed confused about seeing an Antivan elf with her, but he was his usual polite and friendly self. Zevran was tense, though, his answers curt and clipped, wholly devoid of his customary charm. After a few brief exchanges, she excused herself with a regretful glance at Ciaran, and motioned for the assassin to follow her to a window alcove at the back of the room, a few steps away from the crowds.

"What's the matter, Zev?" she asked, concerned about his behaviour.

She heard him growl, even as he tried to keep his voice casual. "An old friend, is he? You were very... relaxed with him."

Cat felt a smile curving up her lips. "Why, Zev, you are jealous! I never thought..."

"Jealous! Me?" His pout was almost comical. "Just... curious."

She grinned broadly, not fooled for a second. "Yes, Ciaran is a _very_ old friend. As a matter of fact..." she let her voice trail off, relishing the strained look on his face as she made him wait. "I had quite a crush on him when I was younger. He was always around, and you know what young girls are like, don't you?"

She heard Zev's sharp intake of breath, felt his body go taut beside her, and couldn't resist teasing him a little more. "Of course I didn't know then that he would grow up to be _quite_ so attractive. Maybe I should go over and renew the acquaintance..." and she turned away to walk toward Ciaran.

It was her turn to gasp as Zevran pulled her firmly back, pressing her body hard against his as he held her in front of him, only just keeping up appearances by hiding his grip on her waist behind the long trailing sleeves of her gown. She could feel his breath on her neck, as he whispered against her ear. "Oh no, my beautiful, you won't!" She couldn't see his face, but the tone of his voice made her shiver all over. "Attractive, is he? And what else, do you think?"

Arl Eamon chose this moment to start giving a rousing speech, but she found she couldn't really listen. A wicked smile was playing on Zevran's lips as his hands travelled along her spine, all the way down from her neck to her lower back. She felt his touch burn through the thin silk of the dress and swallowed hard to retain her composure. Fortunately, everyone else was focussed on the Arl now, though she noticed Ciaran throwing her a confused glance, when her face flushed deeply.

Zevran's hand had travelled even further down, softly caressing the back of her thighs with feather-light touches and she found herself suppressing a moan of pleasure as she involuntarily leaned back into his touch. "Do you like this, my sweet?" His voice was a mere whisper, hoarse and low. "Of course, pleasant as it is, this isn't what I _really_ want to do now..."

Cat desperately tried to focus on the Arl's words, but it was hopeless. Zevran's hands were still stroking her softly, while he was purring into her ear. "What I really want, carissima, is to tear this dress off your body, and then... I would let my lips wander over your neck, your shoulders, your beautiful breasts..." She could feel his gaze dip into the ample cleavage of her dress, and she shivered all over, powerless to stop it. "I would let my tongue play with your nipples, circle them, nip at them..." His hands on her shoulder blades mimicked the actions he described, adding to the torture. "Then I would suck, _hard_ , and I would revel in the sound of your sighs." Cat bit her lip until it nearly bled to stop herself from actually moaning out loud at his words.

With a hand on her hip he pulled her even closer to himself, letting her feel his hardness against her back, and was rewarded with another hot blush and a deep sigh from her, luckily drowned by the loud clapping of hands at a particularly rousing bit of rhetoric from Arl Eamon. "Of course by then, you would be so hot and wet, so wet for me..." He saw that her hands had gripped the fabric of her skirt and were twisting it desperately, and he grinned, knowing that his words were probably not far from the truth.

Zevran went on mercilessly. "So, I would let my hands part your thighs and then I would softly, gently, stroke you, touch you, caress you, until you press yourself against my hand, begging for more, ..."

"Zev, in the name of the Maker, please, stop," she breathed, panting softly. "I... can't..." Another round of applause at the Arl's words went up, everyone rose to toast Alistair, and Zevran took advantage of this to reach for his glass, his hand brushing against her breasts. She felt her knees go weak then and nearly stumbled, but his hand was there on her waist to hold her up.

"Not feeling well, Warden?" he asked in a perfectly normal, carrying voice. "It _is_ rather hot in here. Please let me take you out to the balcony for a moment, for some fresh air."

The glance she threw him could only be described as murderous. "I don't..." she started in a shaky voice, but he wouldn't let her finish.

"Please, my lady, I insist!" Cat could see Leliana rolling her eyes at Wynne and throwing her an exasperated glance, as Zevran took her arm and led her out by a side door just as everyone gathered around Alistair and Eamon on the far side of the room.

When they were outside, he raised a warning finger to his lips, looking around briefly, before he seemed to melt into the shadows, dragging her with him to a small hidden servants' staircase. He quickly led her upstairs towards the guest quarters. When they were safely inside his room, he bolted the door shut behind him to make sure they wouldn't be surprised, then pulled her into a scorching hot kiss, his lips crushing hers, his hands everywhere on her body at once. "Zev!" she moaned as he quickly drew up her skirt, pushing her hard against the wall, and she hooked one leg around his waist, begging him with her whole body to take her. "Damn you, Zev, why do you have to be so... good?" He didn't have any more patience than she had at his point, and he unlaced his breeches with trembling fingers, as fast as he could manage, not bothering to undress completely.

Within seconds he was pushing her down on the soft rug next to the bed, and then he was inside her, thrusting hard, groaning loudly now, no longer able to restrain himself. He heard her moan and whimper in reply, felt her muscles tighten around him, as she threw her head back in reckless abandon, and he couldn't keep his lips and teeth off the soft white skin of her neck and shoulders, even though he knew he would leave marks that would embarrass her later.

They both lost track of their surroundings, neither knowing nor caring that in the room below the meeting was dissolving, the banns were leaving, Arl Eamon was dragging Alistair off to his study for a brandy, and Leliana was making up increasingly fanciful excuses for the absence of the Warden. Everything else had ceased to exist and all that remained was the feeling of skin on skin, lips on lips, their bodies locked in an ardent, tight embrace. He heard her cry out, a sharp, high-pitched cry of passion, but he was already too far gone to respond, except with a deep ragged groan, as he sank inside her, again and again, lost in the feel of her trembling hot body.

When she opened her eyes and looked at him, they were glazed with lust and she was limp in his arms. She let her hand ghost tenderly over the swirling lines of his tattoo, but he shook her off, a frown on his face. "Well, cara, tell me," he growled. "Do you think your handsome young bann could make you feel like this?"

She shook her head, burying her face against his neck. "Oh stop it, Zevran," she whispered, laughing softly. "I'm sure you don't need to hear it from me." She looked up into his eyes. " _Nobody_ does it better. I'll never need anyone but you."


	27. A Night to Remember

**Chapter 27: A Night to Remember**

Zevran was shivering in the draughty corridor of Denerim's Royal Palace. He could hear her raised voice from inside the audience chamber, where she was arguing with Alistair. _King_ Alistair now. He smirked. _That_ would take some getting used to. Though he had to admit the Chantry Boy had changed in more ways than one. He had easily defeated Loghain in the duel, and had then ordered the other man's execution without so much as flinching. The Hero of the River Dane was dead now, his daughter arrested for treason. Apparently, though, that new-found kingly self-confidence meant that Alistair was a whole lot less amenable to Cat's suggestions as well.

The door opened and she appeared in the doorframe, angrily shouting back at her fellow Warden. "Damn it, Alistair, this isn't just about you! If you're going to be King, then you can't follow your own inclinations all the time!"

And then he heard Alistair's quiet voice. "I can't do that, Cat. Not even for you." He saw her grow pale as she heard her own words come back to haunt her. Then she bowed her head and he could see that the fight had gone out of her.

"Please, consider it Alistair," she said softly. "You know where to find her if you change your mind."

Zevran fell into step beside her as she headed off toward their quarters. "What is it, love?" he asked quietly, but she shook her head.

"I don't want to talk about it, Zev. Maker, but that man is stubborn!"

When they reached the huge chamber that had been assigned to her, he was relieved to see a fire burning in the fireplace and a sumptuous dinner spread on the table. Finally, some warmth, and some time to relax.

After dinner they settled on the huge four-poster with a glass of dark red wine. She leaned back against his chest and sighed. "The Archdemon is close, Zev, I can feel him. Tomorrow we'll do battle."

He gently nuzzled her neck. "And why should this worry you? We've battled dragons before, have we not? From what I understand, the Archdemon is essentially a huge dragon. No one knows better than you how to deal with those." Her gaze followed his to the armour stand where her beautiful drakeskin armour was waiting. Wade's masterpiece, perfectly fitted, almost completely fireproof.

She sighed, put the glass away and looked up at him. "Zev, I need you tonight, I need you more than ever."

Her eyes were almost feverish, and he tried to laugh the tension off. "You have me, don't you think?" He began to shower her with small kisses, ready to comfort her the best way he knew, but she shook her head and pushed him back against the pillow, a serious look on her face.

"Tonight it's about what you want, love," she muttered, "what you dream about."

He looked at her in surprise. "Cara mia, there's nothing I've been missing in our love-making. There are no secret dreams, no dark desires I never told you about." And it was true. She had always been more than eager to comply with his wishes and suggestions, and he knew he just had to ask if any particular fancy crossed his mind.

Cat sighed. "Please, Zev, let me make this special for you." He raised an eyebrow, but let her proceed when she began to take off his clothes, one by one, planting soft little kisses on his golden skin. As she traced the swirling tattoo on his chest with her fingers, he groaned softly, catching her hand to place a burning kiss on her palm, but she quickly freed herself and continued caressing him all over. Her fingers and mouth left a hot trail over his body and he gave himself up willingly to her, enjoying every second.

When her mouth finally wandered down and she took his throbbing erection gently between her lips, he hissed sharply in pleasure. She smiled briefly, but then went on, alternately sucking, licking, twirling her tongue around his tip. He watched her, entranced by her beauty and by the sheer wantonness with which she pleasured him. With every moment, he felt his lust building up, rising higher and higher, until he knew he was getting too close to let her proceed any longer.

But as he pulled her up into his arms, throwing off her shirt, his hands on her breasts, impatient to make her join him in ecstasy, he heard her whisper "Zev... you don't have to... tonight I want you to enjoy..."

He shook his head in disbelief, his voice rough, almost angry, as he grabbed her chin, pulling her mouth close to his, whispering against her lips. "And do you honestly think there's anything I enjoy more than hearing you moan in pleasure?" The fingers of his other hand buried themselves in her soft wet curls, eliciting a soft gasp from her. "Than making you tremble in my arms?" He pushed his fingers deep inside her, and she arched up against him, unable to hold back. "Than holding you and watching your face as you cry my name?"

She gave in then, delivering herself completely to his touch. "Zevran! Please!"

He kissed her long and hard, pulling her down upon him until he rested deep inside her, looking into her eyes and letting her see the passion and desire burning in his gaze, fuelled by her response. His hands were back on her breasts, stroking, caressing, then wandering deeper, touching her assuredly, making her burn. With a sudden flip he turned her over, still buried deep in her heat and began to move, slowly and cautiously, then faster, his gaze firmly locked on her face. As he watched her enraptured expression, her growing helplessness, her utter and total abandonment, he felt his own pleasure mount, his whole body suffused by fire, burning for her, so hot, so sweet. He wanted this to last forever, wanted her to become a part of him, never, ever to let go of her again. When she finally came in his arms, her eyes rolling backwards, her lips parted in a long soft sob, he knew that it would never be better, never more perfect. "So beautiful," he breathed, finally allowing himself his release, shuddering as he sank down into her soft warm flesh.

Afterwards he pulled her close, his hand gently smoothing her tousled hair, his lips against her temples. "What was that about, cara?" he asked softly.

She huddled against him, hiding her face. "Just a whim."

He frowned, then he lightly kissed her forehead. "Every night with you is special, my beautiful," he whispered.

 _Yes, but this one needs to be unforgettable_ , she thought, as a single large tear rolled softly down her cheek.


	28. A New Life

**Final Chapter: A New Life**

Neither of them could believe it at first, when suddenly everything was over. The Blight was ended, the Archdemon was slain. Cat returned from the final battle with a huge triumphant smile on her face, pulling Zevran into a long passionate kiss. "Now, let us get out of here," she whispered against his lips, her voice full of promise.

"Wait a moment," they heard Wynne say. "You need healing." Zevran watched the soft blue waves of magic wash over her bruised limbs, then he heard the mage gasp in surprise.

"What is it, Wynne?" Cat asked.

"The taint... but that's impossible..." Wynne muttered. "I could always feel it, when I was healing you, but now it's... gone."

Cat looked at the mage, her eyes huge with delighted surprise. "You mean, now the Archdemon is gone, I'm no longer a Warden? I'm free?" The old mage nodded, too amazed to speak.

Zevran didn't need to hear more. He took her hand and off they went, without even the briefest of backward glances. When night fell, they had already left Denerim far behind them. No need to stay for the celebrations. Let Alistair claim the glory of saving Ferelden. They were free, they could go as they pleased. Zevran had never seen Cat so happy, so carefree, so untroubled. And by some miracle, the healing that had liberated her of the taint seemed to have lifted the shadows of the past from him as well.

They spent the night at a small roadside inn, talking, making plans, nestling against each other on the bed. Her eyes were full of hope and joy as she spoke of what they could do together, where they would go. And when dawn was approaching, he took her into his arms and they made love, softly and sweetly, and it was better than ever before, even though they dispensed with all games and tricks. When she cried with pleasure in his arms, he buried his face in her hair and kissed her over and over. "I love you so much, my Catalina, I love you, love you, love you."

* * *

It was at this point that the dream would shatter into pieces, every night. He'd wake up and he'd kick out the nameless stranger who had shared his bed, and as soon as he was alone, the memories of that final battle and its aftermath would come flooding back, leaving him stranded in the black depths of desperation again.

Once more he would see Alistair walk toward him, his face a mask of guilt and pain, carrying her shattered, broken body, placing her gently into his arms. And once more he'd kiss those cold lifeless lips, again and again, whispering the words he'd never managed to say aloud while she was alive. When they'd finally made him let go of her, he had taken out his dagger, cut off a single strand of her hair, and disappeared into the night. Oh, they had looked for him for a while, but he was Zevran Arainai, the undisputed master of stealth and secrecy, and if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be found. They'd given Cat a hero's funeral with all the trappings and honorifics. _The Slayer of the Archdemon, the Saviour of Ferelden_. By that time, he'd already been far away. She wouldn't have cared anyway. She'd never wanted to be a hero. She had wanted to live, to love, to be free.

For some time he drifted all over Ferelden and beyond, never staying in one place, alone, unattached. The pain was his only companion, a constant dull ache that remained, no matter where he went or what he did, as if a part of his body had been cut off. He tried his hand at a few jobs and managed to pull them off, but he keenly felt her absence, like a hole in the air next to him, while he scaled rooftops, avoided traps, silently took out his opponents.

The nights were the hardest part. Zevran had never been a drinker, so he didn't attempt to drown his sorrows. Instead, he lost himself in a frenzied succession of bed partners, pretty young men and women, their names and faces a blur. He would seduce them with practised ease, bed them, forget them. His body performed as it always had, but he was numb inside, not sure whether he would ever feel anything again.

The Crows caught up with him three months later. They knew that he no longer had the protection of the Warden, and he had grown careless. When he returned to his inn that night, alone for once, the arrow missed him by a hair's breadth. For a split second he was looking at the shaft, quivering in the wall next to his head, and he almost gave in to the overwhelming temptation to let them go on, let them kill him, finally end the pain. But then his reflexes took over.

Without a conscious thought, he whirled around, blades at the ready, taking in the situation with a single practised glance, throwing himself into the graceful, lethal dance he knew so well. When he paused for breath minutes later, all five attackers lay dead on the floor. A quick search of their pockets told him they were Ignacio's men. Two nights later, Zevran paid him a visit, making sure that the other assassin would never bother him again.

Oddly enough, the incident brought him a measure of peace. It had shown him that he preferred life, even the pain-filled, tortured existence he was leading now, to dying. He wasn't done yet. When a handsome young Elven mage caught his eye at a tavern some weeks later, he walked over to greet the stranger, curious for the first time in weeks. Later that night, as he disentangled himself from sweat-soaked sheets and silently snuck out of the other man's room, he was sure he would live. Not love again, not that, never, but there might still be _something_ out there for him. And as time went by, the pain lessened somewhat, and the memories of her became a treasure he hid away deep inside, to be taken out and examined only in the rarest and most precious of instances.

* * *

Zevran had known for some time that Nuncio was on his trail. He had hidden in a cave on the slopes of Sundermount, north of Kirkwall, when the band of adventurers arrived to look for him. There were four of them, an Elven mage, a dwarf, a female knight, and their leader, a woman in fighter's gear. When they approached and he heard one of her companions cry out "Careful, Cait!" his heart beat faster for a second. A vivid series of remembered images raced across his brain as he took in the leader's appearance. Red hair, green eyes, a graceful body... but then he realized that the similarities ended right there. The woman called Cait was taller than _she_ had been, and more muscular, with swirling dark red tattoos on her cheekbones, a seasoned warrior whose strong arms easily wielded the massive two-handed sword she was carrying.

She seemed confident and self-assured, when she spoke, her voice clear and strong. "You must be the Antivan. They call me Hawke."

When he left the cave early next morning, Zevran was surprised to find that he was smiling a fond smile. She was indeed a formidable fighter. Nuncio's thugs hadn't stood a chance against their combined skills once he had persuaded her to take his side. And the night that followed the fighting had been just as memorable. As he made his way down the slopes of the mountain, Zevran found himself intrigued when he thought about the future. He was pretty certain that he would meet her again sooner or later, and he wondered what would come of it. Her heart belonged to someone else, she had said.

But then, so did his.

*** The end ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs and thanks to zevgirl for her help with some chapters of this story. All mistakes are of course entirely my own


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